


accepted to the team

by beckettemory



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (im so glad nb lardo is already a tag), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Larissa "Lardo" Duan, Timeline Fuckery, Trans Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Trans Male Character, Zimbits in later chapters, content warnings in the notes before each chapter, how is that not a tag all the 'top' tags are about toppING come on yall, title may change bc i kind of hate it, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: Eric "Bitty" Bittle has known he was a man for a while, but it was only when he went off to Samwell that he was able to live as himself, lying to his parents about how he got onto the team and lying to the team about what was in his pants. Well, not lying. More like willful omission for his safety.He prepared himself for an environment much like his high school, fearing for his life and hiding a very important piece of himself.But honestly, he wasn't at all prepared for what he found at Samwell.Safety.





	1. Coaches Hall and Murray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: vague references to homophobic and transphobic violence, self-deadnaming, some medical vague misgendering (in the context of physical safety in sports), discussions of very bad sports injuries, discussions of family being unsupportive of transition

“Come on in, Bittle.” 

Eric Bittle closed the office door behind him without turning his back on the two men sitting around a small round table. His heart pounded loud in his ears and his mouth was drier than Daddy's chicken when Mama was working too late to cook. 

One of the men was slowly, almost contemplatively scratching his temple, brows furrowed and eyes staring somewhere beyond the white walls of the office. The other, the one with glasses, was smiling at Eric kindly, gesturing to the seat nearest the door. 

“You get settled in okay?” the second man asked. 

“Yes, sir,” Eric squeaked out as he sat. 

“Great. Well, I'm Coach Hall,” the man said, and gestured to the other. “That's Coach Murray, he’s assistant coach.” 

“Hi,” Eric said quietly as Coach Murray roused himself and shook his hand. 

“Good to meet you.” 

Coach Hall studied Eric for a long moment, making him squirm, his palms slick with anxious sweat. 

Lord above, he should not have come here. Why the hell hadn't University of Georgia been good enough for him? 

Right, because of the blatant homophobia and all that rampant in the state itself. 

“Take a breath, Bittle,” Coach Hall said with a chuckle. 

Eric blinked in surprise but complied nonetheless. In and out. Hold the out. Okay. 

“Okay,” he said out loud, though his voice was still very small. “Sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologize for. Let's just get to brass tacks, alright?” Murray said. He had dropped his contemplative look and now smiled easily at Eric. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“So, Eric, that right?” Hall asked, looking down at the short stack of papers in front of him. 

“Yes. Or Rachel, if you--” 

“No, no need for that,” Hall interrupted offhandedly, then looked up at Eric. “We use the name you want us to use. No questions asked.” 

Eric nodded meekly. “Eric, then, please.” 

Murray smiled down at his own papers and shuffled them around, looking for something. “And your pronouns are he/him?” 

“Y-yes,” Eric stuttered. “Um, no offense, but…” 

“You're wondering why we're so good about this,” Hall guessed. 

Eric blushed and nodded. 

Murray snorted. “One in four, maybe more,” he said cryptically, still looking down at his papers. 

“Wh…?” 

“Common saying at Samwell,” Hall explained. “We've got a student body that hovers around 25% being LGBT, so kids started saying ‘one in four, maybe more’. Faculty and staff get a lot of training about it.” 

Eric blinked. “That's really cool.” 

He'd heard about Samwell’s statistics before he applied, and it had been a major reason he had at all, but he had never imagined that that attitude would extend to athletic staff. He guessed he shouldn't be so surprised, since he had made it on the men's hockey team even after emailing the coaches to say he was transgender. 

“It is,” Hall affirmed. “Okay, now we've gotten that sorted out, let's talk.” He looked at Murray. “You wanna do amenities or health and safety?” 

“I'll do amenities,” Murray said, and sat forward. “So, Eric, the rink has some nice locker room facilities. The men's hockey team, naturally, uses the men's locker room. You're, of course, allowed to use them if you want. We don't currently have any gender neutral facilities, but they've been making noise like they're gonna add some for a while. The women's locker room is smaller, and there's no gear storage place in there big enough for all your hockey gear, but we can figure something out if you're more comfortable not being in the men's room.” 

“No, um, men's is fine,” Eric said. “Can I shower in the women's room, though?” 

Murray shrugged. “Up to you.” 

“You were in a coed league back home?” Hall asked, his glasses slipping ever farther down his nose. 

“Yes. We didn't have locker rooms at the rink, though. We changed at home,” Eric said. 

“The boys can be kind of rowdy in the lockers,” Murray warned. “They're respectful, but you may not be able to avoid outing yourself if you use the lockers.” 

“Knight’s got that thing he does,” Hall said to Murray, his tone making it sound like an agreement. 

“What?” Eric asked, completely lost. 

“One of our current boys. He's harmless, son, don't worry,” Hall said. 

Eric’s heart thumped. He'd never been called “son” before. 

“He goes around the locker room after conditioning sometimes, complimenting everyone's bodies,” Hall continued. 

“Is he…?” 

“Gay? No clue,” Hall said. He furrowed his brow. “We're getting off topic.” 

“Did you ask Duan if we have gear his size?” Murray asked Hall. 

“Yes, and we do,” Hall answered. “Which leads me into health and safety. Eric, I gotta ask, as your new coach, do you bind?” 

Eric blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir.” 

“Alright, well, not on the ice or in the gym, got it?” Hall said, making a note of something. “We're going to have to tell the trainers about all this, just in case you get hurt.” 

“Why? I've only ever gotten, like, twisted knees an’ bruises an’ all,” Eric said. 

“Collegiate hockey is full-contact, Bittle,” Hall said. “Not like your no-checking coed league. And, you being small and fast, you're gonna be a target out there.” 

Eric's palms had dried as he got more comfortable, but they were suddenly slick again and he felt sick to his stomach as he realized exactly what he had gotten himself into. Somehow it had never really sunk in that there was no middle ground with on-ice violence between the no-checking juniors and the violent blood sport of the pros, where Pacioretty got his neck nearly snapped on a stanchion in an illegal check and Letang was almost always concussed or on Injured Reserve. These kids he was playing with and against weren't just hobbyists, students killing time outside of class with a club sport. These were kids who could go on to have pro hockey  _ careers _ immediately after graduating, no additional violence training necessary. 

And Eric was small, and he was fast, and he looked frail. An easy target, and a worthy one. 

“Eric?” Hall repeated, and Eric looked up at him, pulling himself out of his funk long enough to recognize that Coach Hall had asked him something. 

“Sorry?” he asked lamely, his throat tight. 

“I asked, and this is kinda personal so you can leave it if you don't want to answer, if you had family support in your transition.” 

Eric took a breath. In and out. Hold the out.

“No, sir,” he said. “They don't even know.” 

Murray's eyebrows shot up. “How did you explain you making the team?” 

Eric laughed humorlessly. “I said I was so good I made the team even though I was a woman.” 

Hall blew out a breath audibly, puffing out his cheeks and shaking his head. Murray laughed. 

“Well, parts of that are true,” Murray said. 


	2. Bitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: vague misgendering by circumstance (using women's gear and locker rooms), descriptions of nudity, references to very bad sports injuries

It was all Eric had in him to not bolt back to his dorm after his first practice with the team. It wasn’t anyone on the team; he’d met everyone the afternoon before, not long after his meeting with Hall and Murray, and they all seemed to like him just fine--except Jack Zimmermann, but that was another story. No, what terrified him was that he stank, and he didn’t know how he was going to slip out of the men’s locker room to go shower in the women’s lockers.

Some of the boys began stripping out of their gear as they walked en masse to the locker rooms, clumsily pulling jerseys over their heads and shoving gloves and mouth guards into helmets. Eric removed his helmet but kept everything else on, nervous that any exposed shoulder padding would tell the whole team he was wearing women's gear.

In the locker rooms the boys grew louder, someone starting to sing Bohemian Rhapsody, in turn making the rest of the team join in for their favorite parts. Eric put down some of his gear and began gathering up what he would need to shower and change elsewhere, determined not to alert anyone to his departure. His locker stall was luckily near the goalies’, so he didn't have far to go to slink out of the room.

The goaltender, Johnson, studied Eric out of the corner of his eye as he stripped out of his padding and sat to unlace his skates. Eric tried to ignore him but found himself glancing up a couple of times to see if he was still looking.

He locked eyes with Johnson, who narrowed his eyes, nodded sagely, and jerked his head towards the side door.

“Gotchu, kid,” he said, and a moment later after he pulled his skate off he stood and strode into the middle of the room (stopping short of the giant S on the floor). “A thousand cockroaches or one human person,” he called, and with that single, nonsensical phrase the room erupted into several small but heated arguments.

Johnson looked back at Eric and winked, and Eric scurried off, not entirely sure what had just happened but not particularly interested in finding out.

There was luckily no one in the hallways or in the women's locker room, and Eric showered quickly, the fact that he was in the women's room making him dysphoric on top of the dysphoria from his bare chest. He struggled with his binder, having not taken enough time to dry off completely, and as soon as he was dressed he all but sprinted back to the men's lockers.

He slipped in through the side door unnoticed. The locker area was almost empty, and he could hear the end of Bohemian Rhapsody in several voices, complete with vocal guitar riffs, filtering from the shower area.

Johnson was back at his locker stall, his wet hair dripping on the floor, lacing up a pair of ridiculous bright red Doc Martens. He nodded at Eric and said, “They’re supposed to make me stand out in the comic panels, but that evidently doesn't work,” and strode out as he hauled his backpack to his shoulder, his boots not even fully tied.

Eric just stared after him, rearranging the team in his mind to add the new information that their star goaltender was apparently a crazy person.

He was snapped out of this by two defensemen, Ransom and Holster, coming back into the locker area with towels around their waists. They shouted across the room at each other, evidently thinking the distance between their lockers was several times larger than it was.

“Nah, brah, it's duh-duh-dah-dah-duhhhhh,” Ransom called, singing an approximation of the ending notes of Bohemian Rhapsody.

“It's dah-dah-dun-dah-dunnn,” Holster corrected, singing a slightly different version.

“Bittle, back me up here,” Ransom called, seeing that only Eric was left in the room.

“Wait, Rans, hold up,” Holster said even as he dropped his towel and stood fully nude in front of his locker. “How did we neglect his nickname?”

“What?” Eric asked, caught off guard by their suddenly dragging him into a conversation and more than a little uncomfortable with the casual nudity. He’d never spent much time in a men's locker room, at least not when there were actual men in there. “Um, Eric is fine.”

“Maybe in like, class and all, but not on the ice,” Ransom scoffed. “You ever heard a Bruin call to his teammate on the ice like, ‘hey, Mike, offside’?”

“Jack doesn’t have a nickname,” Eric pointed out.

“He’s Bad Bob’s son, he doesn’t need a nickname. Plus, ‘Jack’ is fine,” Holster said. “Yo Shits!” he called back over his shoulder. He was now wearing boxers but no other clothing, and Ransom’s entire ass was on display across the room.

“Hah?” Knight--Shitty?--called ahead of himself as he strode into the room, fully nude and dripping wet.

“Bittle doesn't have a nickname yet,” Holster said.

Shitty’s face lit up and he stopped in the middle of the room and put his hands on his hips, his entire penis just right there, and Eric fought to keep from glancing down at it. “Well, fuck me,” he exclaimed. “We nearly forgot all about you, you're so quiet!”

Eric shifted in his seat in his locker, not sure what to say to that but knowing his hesitation only proved Shitty's point.

Shitty studied him, rubbing his chin. “Boys, options,” he said, sounding weirdly businesslike.

“Well, Bitty,” Ransom said simply.

“Bottle?” Holster suggested with a shrug.

“Nah, nah,” Shitty said, waving at Holster but not looking away from Eric. “Got it in one. Bitty.”

“Yeah, I like it,” Holster said. “How tall are you?” he asked.

“Five-six and a half,” Eric muttered, absolutely positive how this was going to go down.

“More like _Itty_ Bitty,” Ransom said, confirming Eric's suspicion. 

“For real, though, brah,” Shitty said, holding a hand out towards Eric like he was going to shake his hand despite the ten feet between them. “You cool with Bitty?”

Eric shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

“We can workshop it,” Shitty said, turning finally and going to his locker where he, thankfully, began putting on actual clothing. “No point in having a nickname if you hate it.”

“What’s your first and middle names?” Holster asked.

Eric frowned. He hadn’t picked a new middle name yet. He’d only really picked “Eric” a few months ago, after calling himself everything from Tony to Micah to Oliver over the past couple of years, none of them feeling right for longer than a week or so. He couldn’t very well say he didn’t have a middle name--cis men always had middle names. He liked having R as an initial, but the only R men’s name was… no, he couldn’t.

“Eric Richard,” he said impulsively.

“Richard,” Holster repeated.

“It’s my dad’s name,” Eric said.

“Eric Richard,” Ransom said slowly, contemplatively. “Nah, I got nothing.”

“Me either,” Holster said.

“Really, guys, Bitty is fine,” Eric said.

“You sure?” Shitty asked. “We can deffo work on something else, brah.”

“No, I-I like it,” Eric said, and a moment later he realized he meant it.

“Noice,” Ransom said.

“I dub thee!” Holster said grandly, holding up a shoe over his head like a trophy. “Sir Bitty of the Number Fifteen!”

“Great,” Jack muttered as he came into the room, somehow already fully dressed despite definitely having come from the showers.

Eric had been starting to have fun, but at their captain’s entrance he felt that all drain out of him. What was Jack’s problem?

“Get it, man?” Shitty asked. “Cuz he’s little?”

“And his name is Bittle, yes,” Jack said. He looked at Eric. “You going to be okay when we start full-contact in a few days? We don’t want you to snap your neck.”

 _Like Pacioretty,_ Eric’s brain helpfully supplied, and he felt his stomach go sour.

“I-I’ll be fine,” Eric said, not entirely sure he was telling the truth.

Jack studied him for a long moment, then nodded and went to his locker. “Shits, you taking Religions of the Early Americas with Brachs this semester?”

“Nah, brah, heard it was supes boring,” Shitty said.

Eric quietly finished putting his shoes on and packing his bag. He slipped out of the locker room unnoticed and headed back to his dorm, trying desperately to think about anything but dying on the ice.


	3. Shitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: vague misgendering by circumstance (using the women's locker room)

Bitty somehow avoided outing himself to anyone on the team (except maybe Johnson? Impossible to tell.) until two months into classes. He kept showering in the women’s locker room after practice, and he still had to wear a sports bra under his t-shirt for conditioning, but when he came out, it was on his terms. 

Shitty had become his closest friend on campus despite his near constant state of undress and Bitty still being more than a little uncomfortable with that. Shitty always saved him a seat in the caf, even though that meant he was invariably sitting near Jack, and Shitty was always the one to answer Bitty’s frantic texts to everyone who lived at the Haus to let him in because he needed to bake. 

So when Bitty decided, eight weeks into the term, that it was time to tell  _ someone, _ Shitty was naturally his first pick. 

Bitty paced in front of a bench near Faber, Shitty perched on the back and watching him, flipping through his note cards nervously without looking at them. Deep breath. In and out. Hold the out. 

“You good, Bits?” Shitty asked after a long minute of this. 

“Mmm,” Bitty hummed vaguely, then found his voice. “I, um, want to tell you something but I’m really. Really nervous.” 

“I can see that, bruh. What’s that you got there?” 

“Talking points,” Bitty said. 

“Aw, Bits, you didn’t have to write a speech for me,” Shitty said. 

Bitty leveled a long-suffering look at him through his nerves, and Shitty grinned widely back. 

“I didn’t know how else to not chicken out,” Bitty muttered, looking away again. 

“Seriously, brah, you can tell me anything. I’m like, chill about everything? Unless you hate the turn the Dixie Chicks have taken in recent years, because  _ that--”  _

“Shitty!” Bitty groaned. 

“Right, sorry.” 

“I guess I’ll just say it, then,” Bitty mumbled. “Uh, Shitty, I’m…” 

His voice got stuck in his throat. Shitty just looked at him, his face open and relaxed. 

“I’m trans.” 

“Ah!” Shitty exclaimed. He grinned wide and held out his hands like he was reaching out to hug Bitty despite the ten feet between them. “Cool, Bits!” 

Bitty blinked at him. “That’s it?” 

“I mean, no, I got way more, but I’m proud of you my guy,” Shitty said, sounding genuinely proud. 

“What?” 

“That’s gotta be real fuckin’ scary, brah, and I’m glad you trusted me with this.” His grin dropped and he looked concerned. “Oh, hold up, you cool with me calling you ‘brah’ and all that?”  

“Yes, please,” Bitty said. “I’m a boy.” 

“Noice, okay. Pronouns?” 

“He/him?” 

“Excellent, dude, thanks. I’m he/him too, just while we’re talking about gender shit,” Shitty said. 

Bitty blinked, it suddenly sinking in that he was out to a friend and it hadn’t gone poorly. He never thought that would happen. 

“I’m a boy,” he whispered. 

“Fuck yeah, you’re a  _ man,”  _ Shitty said. “If you identify as a man, that is.” 

Bitty grinned at Shitty. “Thanks, Shits.” 

“No prob, Bits,” he said with his own smile. Then he looked dumbfounded. “Holy shit. ‘Bits’ and ‘Shits.’” 

“Yeah. Bitty and Shitty,” Bitty said slowly. “You never noticed?” 

“No! Fuck, how did I get into college?” Shitty groaned, smacking his hand to his forehead. 

Bitty laughed all the way to lunch. 


	4. Ransom, Holster, Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: references to re-closeting oneself for safety, people pointing out pre-T physical traits, slightly icky reactions to coming out (vague references to trans person not being a "real man" but not in those words), physical violence (sports related), panic/anxiety catatonia, references to bad sports injuries

Bitty came out to the rest of the team gradually. Ransom and Holster were next, about a week before Family Weekend. Bitty's parents were coming and he didn't want anyone to correctly gender him around his very-Southern parents, at least audibly. 

“So… I'm trans,” Bitty said, staring down at the table top. The second time around was easier, if only because he knew he had support from someone else on the team if this outing went bad, but his stomach was still in knots. “A trans man, I mean.” 

“Ohhhhhh,” Ransom said around a mouthful of pie, looking like he'd just had an epiphany. 

“That's chill, Bits,” Holster said around his own bite of pie. 

“What?” Bitty asked Ransom, who hurriedly swallowed. 

“You never shower with the team, brah, and your voice is--hurk!” 

Holster elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Dude,” he hissed. 

“I know it's high,” Bitty said, his cheeks heating up. “I haven't been able to start testosterone yet.” 

“Nah, nah, that's fine, Bits, I was just wondering,” Ransom said quickly. “For real. I got a cousin who's trans.” 

“Everyone has a trans cousin,” Holster said. “If you don't have a trans cousin, you  _ are  _ the trans cousin.” 

“I thought that thing was about gay cousins,” Ransom said. 

Holster shrugged. “Could be that, too.” 

“That's cool, though, Bits,” Ransom said. “I'm impressed with how good you can keep up on the ice.” 

“Yeah, same, especially without hormones,” Holster agreed. 

“Thanks,” Bitty mumbled. “But I don't keep up as much as the coaches want me to.” 

“Yo, we do extra conditioning on Saturdays,” Ransom said. “You could come with, if you want.” 

Bitty smiled. “That'd be great. Thanks, boys.” He remembered why he'd told them. “Oh, and, um, my folks are comin’ up for Family Weekend, an’ I'm not out to them at all, so…” 

Holster winced. “Yikes. How can we help?” 

Bitty hummed. “Just like… don't call me Eric or anything like that.” 

“We can stick to ‘Bitty’ and stuff, that cool?” Ransom suggested. 

“That's fine. And, um, maybe best to just avoid pronouns completely.” 

Ransom hummed in thought. “Doable.” 

“We'll be on defense, bruh,” Holster said. “You need us to get rid of anyone, you say the word.” 

“‘Get rid of’?” Bitty asked cautiously. 

“Usher them away and keep them busy, of course,” Holster said quickly. “Unless…” 

“Unless…” Ransom echoed. 

“Nope. No ‘unless,’ thank you,” Bitty said. 

“Again, we could make a play out of it,” Holster said. 

“Not necessary, thank you.” 

Jack came the next morning, at six in the morning on Faber ice. Bitty hadn't been planning to say anything, but the situation made it impossible. 

Bitty was sweating, more out of nerves from being checked over and over than any kind of exertion, and he trembled like a shitting dog. 

He stood against the corner boards facing down the long end of the rink. In the few checking practices they'd had so far Bitty had gotten to where he could keep conscious even when he knew a hard check was coming, but Jack was not content to leave it at that. Of course not. No, he had decided that Bitty also needed to learn how to recover from illegal checks, plus checks he didn't see coming. 

“Stand at the corner and face that way,” he had told Bitty a moment ago. 

“Whaaaat are you doing, Jack?” Bitty asked nervously, hoping his question came out more hashtag-done than hashtag-shitting-my-pants. 

“Trust me, and brace,” Jack said, bafflingly, as he skated away behind Bitty’s field of vision. 

Bitty was just about to crack a joke about how he wasn't sure he could considering the circumstances, when he heard the distinctive quiet swishing sound of skates on ice when the person wearing them was charging. 

“No, n--” he started to say, half turning to tell Jack to his face, when he saw that Jack had put on his helmet and was getting very, very close. The breath was knocked out of him all at once as Jack barreled into him and he dropped sideways to the ice. 

He landed hard, his hip catching most of his weight and he let out a strangled gasp as he landed. 

“Shit,” he heard above him even as he was still moving, and they finally came to rest two yards farther down the ice than they had started. 

Bitty’s eyes flew open in panic and he started hyperventilating, not even able to think clearly enough to take stock of himself. 

“Bittle, hey,” Jack asked above him, having scrambled off of him and crouched near his knees as he curled into the fetal position. “Sorry, that's not what I meant to-- sorry. Are you hurt?” 

Bitty just shook, unable to even blink. 

“Merde,” Jack muttered. “Alright Bittle, let’s get you up.” 

He leaned forward, hands reaching, and Bitty found he was able to move. But only to cringe away. 

“Okay, okay,” Jack said, holding his hands up in surrender. He studied Bitty. “I don’t see any blood, and you didn’t seem to hit your head. I didn’t hear any bones break.” 

He was quiet, evidently waiting for Bitty to respond, but when he couldn’t, Jack sighed. “I won’t do that again for a while. Not ‘til you’re ready. And we can be done for the day.” 

It was a long, long time before Bitty could move voluntarily. Jack stayed crouched there next to him, keeping up a steady stream of reassurances until Bitty could pull himself, still trembling, to sit upright. 

“Can I help you up, Bittle?” Jack asked cautiously, carefully keeping his hands to himself until Bitty nodded. 

Bitty hated how he flinched when Jack took his hands and how badly they shook when Jack slowly pulled him to stand. Once he was upright and stable Jack took his hands back and ushered him down the ice to the bench, thankfully not touching him. 

Bitty sat heavily on the bench and pulled off his gloves and helmet, pressing his shaky hands to his eyes and leaning forward heavily to put his elbows on his knees. 

“Okay, breathe,” Jack instructed gently. 

“Don’t… don’t do that,” Bitty said finally. 

“No, I got that,” Jack said. He hesitated for a long moment. “What the hell was that, Bittle?” 

Bitty peeled his hands off his eyes long enough to level a dead-eyed stare at Jack, then put his head back in his hands and stayed quiet. 

Jack stayed quiet as well, a game of silent chicken playing out and Bitty determined to not be the one to crack. 

Bitty took stock of his body while he waited for Jack to either speak or leave. Definitely nothing broken, but he would have a nasty bruise on his hip and one elbow from landing hard. 

“I’m sorry, Bittle,” Jack said quietly after what felt like hours. “I thought I was helping.” 

“You were not,” Bitty retorted without moving. 

There was another long silence. 

“Why does checking bother you so much?” Jack asked finally. “Is it the pain?” 

Bitty sighed and straightened up, his body still trembling at full force despite the mental parts of his anxiety starting to wane. 

“You don’t watch much hockey, do you Jack?” Bitty asked. 

Jack scoffed. “Bittle, my father is--oh, I see,” he said, finally catching the look on Bitty’s face. “A joke. Great.” 

“This is my first time playing in a league that allows body checking,” Bitty said. “My only exposure to it was very, very rarely--an’ illegally, I might add--in my home league, an’ in the pros.” 

Jack didn’t say anything. 

“I was watchin’ live when Pacioretty got hit,” Bitty said. 

Jack winced and looked away. “So was I.” 

“Scared the shit outta me. An’ I just thought--never gonna happen to me.” 

“Were you not thinking about playing in college at that point?” Jack asked. “Because collegiate almost always allows checking.” 

“I  _ was  _ thinking of playing,” Bitty said, suddenly realizing how this conversation was going to go. “I didn’t know I’d be able to play in a men’s league where they  _ do  _ allow checking, though.” 

Jack looked confused. “Why wouldn’t y--ah.” 

“I’m trans, Jack,” Bitty said, those words coming much easier now. 

“I see,” Jack said vaguely. 

Bitty looked staunchly away. “I don’t care what you think about it. I know I’m not good enough to play on your line, but I’m not about to quit the team after lying to my whole damn family about how I made it in the first place.” 

“You don’t like being touched,” Jack said quietly. “Of course.” 

“I’m a skill player,” Bitty said. “I got a target on my back an’ not a lot of natural protection against violence.” 

Jack nodded slowly, then blushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I-uh. I shouldn’t have been holding you to such high standards.” 

A jolt of anger flooded through Bitty. “None of that, thanks. You better hold me to the same standard as all the other frogs.” 

“But you don’t--” 

“Have a penis,” Bitty finished pointedly. “Or a testosterone-dominant body. Otherwise I’m the same as the other guys. Don’t hold me to a lower standard just ‘cuz I got a high voice an’ feminine hips.” 

He was still trembling, but at least some of it now was from anger. Honestly, the nerve. 

“You said you don’t care what I think about it,” Jack said. “Why would I--I wouldn’t get angry with you for being transgender or think any less of you, Bittle.” 

“All due respect,” Bitty said, letting a bite into his voice, “I don’t quite believe you.” 

Jack ignored that. “You--do the coaches know?” he asked. 

Bitty sighed and gave up. “Yep.” 

Jack raised his eyebrows. “I see.” 

“My parents don’t,” Bitty said. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to them about it this weekend.” 

“I won’t,” Jack said solemnly. 

Bitty stood on shaky legs. “I’m goin’ home, Jack.” 

“I can walk you back,” Jack said, standing as well. 

“Fine.” 

As they left Faber, Bitty threw Jack a bone. 

“I’m not quitting on you,” he said. “Either the team or checking practice. But I’m gonna be told where you’re comin’ from from here on out.” 

Jack nodded solemnly. “Deal.”


	5. "Rachel"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: lots of misgendering and deadnaming (never purposeful or malicious), casual homophobia, vague references to trans men not being "real men"

Family Weekend was… an ordeal. 

Bitty had gotten used to being seen as a man. His professors called him Eric or Mr. Bittle, the team treated him like one of the guys even despite everyone now knowing the secret, and even his RA in the women-only wing of his dorm knew and corrected people. 

When Suzanne and Richard Bittle stepped foot onto campus, however, that all stopped abruptly. 

The team, coaches and players alike, had been briefed on the situation and knew how to talk about Bitty when his parents were around, but not even that was enough to prepare them for Mama's chatter before the game. 

“First woman on Samwell's Men’s Hockey team,” Suzanne gushed loudly, directing Bitty to stand against the boards at the bottom of the stands to get his picture taken. “My baby's so talented.” 

“Wish you hadn't cut your hair off,” Coach said gruffly from nearby, seated in a bleacher seat and reading his e-reader while his overenthusiastic wife got it all out of her system. “Look like a lesbian.” 

“No I don't,” Bitty retorted, more than a little hurt by his parents’ chilly response to his haircut, which he hadn't told them about beforehand. “It's just easier to take care of with the helmets.” 

“Well, that young man has long hair,” Mama said, pointing across the rink at Shitty. “If  _ he  _ can manage long hair as a  _ man, _ you can too, and easier.” 

“Why easier?” 

“‘Cuz you're a woman an’ you've got eighteen years of practice,” Mama said. “I highly doubt  _ his _ mama let him grow his hair out before he came to college. What's his name?” 

“I don't actually know his first name,” Bitty realized. “His last name's Knight, with a K. But we call him Shitty.” 

“Rachel!” Mama admonished. “Language!” 

“It's not a value judgement, Mama, it's how he introduced  _ himself,”  _ Bitty retorted. “All the boys got nicknames.” 

“Did they give you one?” Suzanne asked suspiciously. 

“Yes,” Eric said. 

“It's not  _ vulgar,  _ is it?” 

“Ma, it's just Bitty.” 

Mama nodded approvingly. “See, that's cute. Though I don't know why you needed one, ‘Rachel’ is a good name by itself.” 

Bitty was getting more exhausted by the minute. “I've gotta go change before the game,” he said. “Let's head back to the dorm.” 

On the bridge over the creek in the middle of campus, they passed Ransom and Holster, both carrying takeout boxes from the caf and wearing matching beanies with pompoms. 

“Yo, Bits,” Holster called. “How's it going?” 

Bitty caught his double meaning. “Fine,” he answered, and both groups stopped in the middle of the bridge. 

“Honey, you gonna introduce us to your little friends?” Mama prompted, and Bitty saw Holster's eyebrows shoot up. Lord, he'd get chirped for that later to be sure. 

“Uh, Mama, Coach, this is Ransom and Holster,” Bitty said. “I mean, Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz. They're defensemen on the team. Guys, these are my parents.”

“Oh, defensemen, I know that,” Suzanne said. She had never gotten that into hockey, and could barely talk about it as she knew very little of the details of how it was played. “You're keeping my Rachel safe on the ice, right?” 

Bitty saw both boys squirm. Luckily Ransom recovered first. 

“Of course,” he said. “Bitty's our baby prodigy.” 

Coach scoffed. “She’s a grown woman, son,” he said. 

“Right, yes sir,” Holster said placatingly. “Rans just meant that everyone on the ice knows Bitty’s a target because h--she's small and skillful so we all just… do what we gotta do to make sure Bitty is safe out there.” 

Holster shot a quick apologetic glance at Bitty, who gave a tiny shrug in response. Nothing to be done. 

This answer had apparently satisfied Coach, because he nodded and looked away, clearly growing bored with the conversation and wanting to get back to his book. Suzanne was beaming at Ransom and Holster, and Bitty grabbed his mom's wrist. 

“Alright, Mama, we really oughta get goin’,” he said, starting to pull her away. “See you boys in a bit.” 

“Have fun,” Holster said pointedly at the same time Ransom said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Bittle.” 

They left and Bitty succeeded in dragging his mother and father back to his dorm before excusing himself to the communal bathrooms. He locked himself in a shower stall, fully clothed, and dragged his hands down his cheeks. 

Good Lord, this was so much worse than he'd imagined. Granted, his worst-case scenario of getting outed somehow hadn't happened, at least not yet, so it was at least survivable, but damn this was rough. 

He stayed in the bathroom as long as he dared, fully cognizant that his parents were alone in his dorm room where he lived as a man, even though his binders and other masculine paraphernalia had been packaged up and left at the Haus for the weekend, just in case. He hurried back, his imagination helpfully supplying him with a disaster that could be waiting for him in his single room. 

Everything was fine, though, and his mother coaxed him into eating a granola bar before they left for Faber despite his protests. 

He gratefully left them at the fan entrance of Faber and all but sprinted to the athlete entrance around the corner, eager to be around gross boys again, where he could really be a man himself. 

“Ey, Bits,” Shitty called as he entered the locker room which smelled like sweat and a million feet, and it was like the smell of fresh lemon bars on a warm summer day; refreshing and comforting. Lord, though, he hated how accustomed he'd gotten to the nastiness of male athletes. “You good?” 

“I have been deadnamed so many goddanged times today,” Bitty complained as he dropped his bag onto the floor in front of his locker. “An’ my dad told me I look like a lesbian.” 

Shitty snorted. “No you don't,” he said. “You look like a baby trans hiding his gender from his conservative parents.” 

“Weird how that works out,” Bitty said drily. 

“I was  _ so uncomfortable,”  _ Ransom said with a mouthful of chow mein. 

“We ran into Rans and Holster,” Bitty explained to Shitty. “Rans called me a baby prodigy an’ my dad called me a grown woman.” 

Johnson, suddenly at his locker, laughed uproariously. “That is god tier out-of-touch parent,” he said. “Oh, the fic writers will have a field day with that.” 

Bitty nodded, having learned that you basically had to just let Johnson say what he felt like saying unless you wanted a long winded explanation of the conventions of the medium or whatever. 

Holster came into the room from the player's lounge, holding a short stack of what looked like magazines. “Hot off the presses,” he said. “ Step right up, this year's Family Weekend Athletics programs.” 

“Yessss,” Ransom moaned, making grabby hands. 

Holster handed them out and Bitty found himself looking through a book of all of the fall/winter sports accomplishments, announcements, and players, complete with majors, hometowns, and photos. 

“They spelled my last name wrong,” Ollie muttered, just loud enough for Bitty to hear. 

“Hold up, Ollie, you're from Buffalo?” Holster demanded. 

“Oh shit, Bitty, look at yours,” Ransom said cautiously. 

Bitty hurriedly flipped to the hockey page and scanned the list. He swore under his breath. 

His name all semester had been “E. R. Bittle” in the programs, but the printer evidently hadn't gotten the memo about Family Weekend, because it still read “E. R. Bittle” instead of “R. Bittle” like he had requested. Luckily, all the players had only first and middle initials listed alongside their last names, so he had dodged the bullet of his entire real name getting printed up. 

“Oh, my mama's gonna make a fuss about this,” Bitty said. 

“Just say it's a typo,” Shitty said. “It'll be fine. I mean, they spelled Ollie’s wrong completely.” 

Bitty nodded, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach anyway. 

Jack came in, his usual grumpy demeanor even more sour than usual. 

“How's the Bob?” Shitty asked. 

Jack glanced up. “Exhausting,” he said simply. He saw Bitty and his face twisted with a weird combination of an awkward smile and a grimace, and Bitty stood. 

“I've gotta…” he trailed off, digging through his bag for his earbuds. “Pre-game playlist,” he muttered. 

“Huddle in forty-five,” Johnson reminded him as he headed for the door. 

“I'll be back to get ready soon,” Bitty promised. 

He paced the back halls of Faber, letting Ellie Goulding and Beyonce get his spirits up as he stretched his arms over his chest. He only let himself think about the music in his ears and the feeling of each stretch. 

At the end of one stretch of hallway, as he turned on his heel to pace back the other way, he froze. There was someone in the hallway coming towards him, and he ripped his earbuds out of his ears automatically. 

“Ah, sorry,” a lilting voice said. "I've startled you." 

The man looked vaguely familiar, but Bitty couldn't place him. 

“I used to come back here before games, too,” the man said, and his accent made it all click into place. 

“Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, suddenly a little star struck. He took a few steps closer before he realized what he was doing, and stopped short a few yards from the man. 

“Guilty,” Jack's father said with a small smile. “You're Bittle, yes?” 

_ Bad Bob Zimmermann knows who I am,  _ Bitty thought. 

“Yes sir,” he said, hoping he was keeping his composure convincingly. “Um, how’d you know my name?” 

Mr. Zimmermann smiled wider. “Ah, my son has told me all about you.” 

Bitty must have made a face, because he chuckled. “All good things, I assure you. I am impressed that you are able to keep up with the demands of the sport,” he said. 

That phrase again. Why did everyone feel the need to point out how weird it was that he could play well against “real men”? 

“Thank you, sir,” Bitty said, electing to keep his annoyance to himself. 

“Bittle, can I offer you some advice?” Mr. Zimmermann asked. 

Bitty blinked. “Um, sure.” 

“You've got to work twice as hard as the rest of the team,” he said. “The establishment--and that's the general ‘establishment,’ not Samwell--doesn't want you to succeed. Professional sports are not kind to people who are different. They believe athletes should all be a certain way. Prove them wrong.” 

Bitty nodded slowly. “Yes sir.” 

Mr. Zimmermann smiled. “I look forward to seeing you play.” 

Bitty swallowed. “You too, sir,” he said, then kicked himself when he realized what he'd said. 

Mr. Zimmermann laughed. “I will let you get on with your pre-game rituals. I know I don't like it when mine is interrupted. See you soon, Bittle.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Bitty said as Mr. Zimmermann walked away, feeling uneasy again, but this time it was different. 

Great. Now he had someone  _ else's  _ parents putting pressure on him in addition to his own. Just what he needed. 

He shoved his earbuds back into his ears and restarted the song he had been listening to when he was interrupted. Nicki told him to pound the alarm, and he glanced at the wall. 

It took all of his self control not to pull the fire alarm and bolt from the building. 


	6. Lardo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: getting clocked (by another trans person), and that's it

Bitty was pulling a maple pecan pie out of the Haus oven when the front door opened. He didn’t pay it much mind; boys had been filtering in and out as they returned from winter break, bringing back suitcases and boxes of Christmas gifts and letting the cold winter air into the Haus each time they went back out to the car. Bitty had come over to hang out, but when he noticed how frigid the Haus was he turned on the oven to combat the chill, and then, well, he had to make a pie then, right?

He heard a voice he didn’t recognize. “Shits?” it called.

There was a thump upstairs in answer, but no one verbally responded, and Bitty heard footsteps in the hall coming towards the kitchen.

“Yo,” the voice said. Bitty turned around and saw a short Vietnamese person with short, dark hair in the doorway. “Shits around?”

Bitty jerked an elbow towards the stairs. “Last I heard he was up--”

“LARDS,” Shitty hollered from the top of the stairs, and he thundered down the steps. “BRUH,” he yelled as he full-body tackled the small figure in the door.

Bitty remembered the boys talking about a “Lardo” over the last semester. He had always pictured the team manager being tall and blond and white, a lot like… well a lot like Holster, really. He had also pictured a man, but unless he was mistaken, this person was very clearly not a man.

“Shits, get off!” Lardo hollered, laughing, as Shitty wrestled them into a bear hug on the floor. “Fuck me, you stink! Did you shower today?”

“No!” Shitty sang. “Fuck dude, I missed you so bad! Hug me back, goddammit!”

Lardo finally gave in, hugging Shitty back, and he let them go. They both scrambled to their feet and Bitty raised an eyebrow at Shitty.

“Hey,” he said.

“Oh, fuck, Bits, you haven’t met Lardo yet, huh?” Shitty asked, smacking his forehead. He draped his arm around Lardo’s shoulders almost unconsciously.

“Nope,” Bitty said.

“Alright, cool, cool, so this is Lardo, the team manager, who was in Kenya studying abroad last semester. And Lards, this is Bitty, who bakes our pies.”

“I play on your line, too, Shits, and I provide you with things you eat, so best be careful,” Bitty warned.

Lardo elbowed Shitty lightly in the stomach. “I can’t believe you replaced me with another baby trans.”

Bitty blinked. “Oh!” he exclaimed, pieces slotting together in his mind.

Lardo snickered. “I’m not a trans man, heads up, I’m nonbinary, but still.”

“Oh, um, what are your pronouns?” Bitty asked. “I’m he/him.”

“They/them, thanks. What’s that?” Lardo asked, pointing to the pie sitting forgotten on the countertop.

“Maple pecan pie,” Bitty said.

“Ohhh,” Shitty groaned, leaving Lardo and drifting forward dreamily, like the pie had its own gravitational pull. “Fuck, Bits, you didn’t have to make a whole pie just for me.”

“Absolutely not, sir, that’s to share with _everyone,”_ Bitty chastised.

“Unbelievable,” Lardo said. “I leave the country for one semester and you replace me with not only another short and, frankly, adorable trans person, but one that can bake.” They shook their head at Shitty.

“Fuck off, you left _me,_ remember? I can replace you with whoever I want,” Shitty said.

“Are you guys… dating?” Bitty asked, pointing back and forth between Shitty and Lardo.

Shitty laughed. “Nah, just best buds.”

“You think I could stand dating this mess?” Lardo asked.

“We would be eternally happy, Duan, and you know it,” Shitty said. “Bits, I’m cutting the pie.”

The front door opened again and a moment later Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Smells good, Bittle,” he said.

Lardo grinned and saluted. “Captain,” they said.

“Hey, Lards,” Jack said with a wide smile of his own, and he hugged them. “When’d you get back?”

“Tuesday,” Lardo said. “Flew from Nairobi to Paris, then to Minneapolis, and then to San Jose.” They dragged their hands down their face. “Stayed two days with family for a reunion, and then flew back here. Jack, I’m telling you, I’m dying.”

“Fuck, Bits,” Shitty moaned around a full bite of pie. “This is so good.”

“Yeah, time zones’ll get ya,” Jack agreed with Lardo.

“Last night I woke up at three a.m. craving a burger with a fried egg on it, Jack,” Lardo said. “I haven’t had _or wanted_ a burger with a fried egg on it in six years and do you know how hard they are to find at three goddamn a.m.?”

“Bits, I’m gonna let you know right now, brah, you’re gonna need at least one more of these pies,” Shitty said. “Because you know how much Ransom likes maple.”

Jack overheard and flipped Shitty the bird. “Not all Canadians are obsessed with maple syrup, Shits, that’s an ugly stereotype.”

“If that’s the ugliest stereotype your country has, something is wrong,” Shitty said.

“He’s right, though,” Lardo said. “I once saw Rans drinking maple soda, which he evidently special ordered, because when I looked it up later I found out that they literally don’t sell it in any physical stores within 200 miles of here.”

Jack shrugged. “I have no excuses for that. That’s disgusting.”


	7. Concussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: discussions of surgery (will be more later so if you're sensitive to that maybe best not to read on), head trauma (canon tho, the Concussion), misgendering and deadnaming, mentions of breasts (on a trans dude)

Coach Hall sighed and leaned back in his office chair, folding his hands behind his head and frowning in thought. Coach Murray rubbed thoughtfully at his mouth just behind him, bouncing slightly in his own office chair. Their office really wasn’t big enough for both of them, and today this was especially evident. The weight of their shared contemplation seemed bigger than the room itself, and Bitty felt like the closest he should be was against the wall opposite the door in the hallway. 

“It would be… difficult,” Hall said. “You're looking at a, what, six month recovery, all told?” 

“Four to six weeks before any real exercise,” Bitty said, looking down at his notes in his lap. 

“That would be best over summer, right after finals,” Hall said. “And full-contact?” 

Bitty blew out a breath. “Two months, usually,” he said with a grimace. 

Hall hummed. “That’s not too bad, actually.” 

“If you went into surgery right after finals, that puts you recovering all summer and back on the ice for drills at first skate at the beginning of the year,” Murray chimed in, tracing lines across his desk like it was a calendar and he was counting off weeks. “And back in full-contact not long after.” 

Hall shifted forward. “I know doctors recommend two months, but I’d even say longer,” he said. “Given how physical hockey is and how much of a target you already are. There’s, what, ten weeks of summer break?” 

“Twelve or so,” Murray said. 

“Oh, that’s better, yeah, that works out nicely,” Hall said. “If you got it done early enough, you could potentially be back on the ice with everyone immediately.” 

Murray cleared his throat and Hall grimaced. “Let’s address the elephant in the room, Bittle,” Hall said, looking away from Bitty. 

“Yes sir?” Bitty asked, completely in the dark about what the elephant even was. 

“You’re still not out to your parents?” Hall asked. 

Bitty winced. “No.” 

“So would you get your top surgery done up here or in Georgia?” 

“Here, probably,” Bitty said. “I--I don’t really trust Georgia doctors with trans stuff. An’ it’d be harder to hide it from my folks, too.” 

Murray nodded. “I agree with you there.” 

Bitty sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know, Coach, I’m not even sure it’s gonna get done this summer. I may focus on getting on hormones instead, put off surgery a little longer so I can save up.” 

Hall hummed. “That may be best. But don’t rule it out completely, son. Being comfortable in your own skin, that’s important.” 

“I think safety’s a little more important,” Murray said, his face casual but his words biting. 

“I know, I know,” Bitty said. He stuffed his notebook into the backpack at his feet. “I haven’t decided for sure on anything yet. I just wanted to--to keep everyone on the same page.” 

Murray nodded and spun around in his chair to face his own desk, hitting the spacebar of his computer to wake it up. “You do what you need to do, Bittle,” he said. “Just keep us apprised.” 

Hall watched Bitty get up to leave, chewing his lip thoughtfully. 

“Hey, Bittle,” he said as Bitty walked to the door. Bitty stopped and turned. “For the record, if you need a place to recover from surgery this summer, I’ve got a guest bedroom you can use.” 

Bitty smiled, his cheeks heating up. “Thank you, Coach. Means a lot.” 

Hall grinned. “Review the tapes from Friday’s game,” he said, all business again. “Birkholtz had an idea to sub you in for Wicks with a play they ran in the third period, you may want to talk to him about it.” 

“Can do,” Bitty said. “See y’all in the morning.” 

In the end, a bad check on the ice decided the whole thing. 

They were four weeks out from finals, and the playoffs were in full swing, when Bitty hit the ice hard, his mind panicking until it was suddenly blank, and that worried him more than the pain did when he could think again. 

A concussion; not a bad one, but a concussion nonetheless. 

Mama flew up over the weekend, her nursing instincts taking a backseat to mothering instincts, and took care of him. This mostly consisted of fussing over him and accidentally keeping him from sleeping at all, never mind longer than two hours at a time. Every so often Bitty would crack open an eye, his head pounding from the light streaming in through the window that had to have been from some kind of flood lamp, to see Mama standing over him with her fingers at his wrist and her eyes on her watch, worn on the inside of her wrist. And then she would see him and pretend she wasn’t being a nurse and insist he eat something. 

Coach Bittle stayed home, but his feelings were made known at Samwell nonetheless. He called Coaches Hall and Murray three times in the first day, twice each in the following three days, and once a day for the following week, to gripe at them about player safety and demanding that Bitty be pulled from the team. Bitty was heartened to hear that Hall had dismissed his father expertly each time, saying it was entirely up to Bittle whether he wanted to return in the fall since he was a legal adult, and he was done for the summer anyway since they’d lost in the playoffs. Bitty then put his foot down with his parents and insisted that he would be returning. 

Three days after his concussion, a lightbulb went off over Bitty’s head. 

“Mama, I don’t think flying is a good idea for a bit,” he said. 

Suzanne raised her eyebrows in surprise and took off her reading glasses. “Because?” 

“I read somewhere that altitude changes for a while after a concussion can hurt real bad,” he said. 

Suzanne furrowed her brow. “You’re not flying anywhere soon, are you?” 

“Well, yeah, at the end of the year, back home,” Bitty said. 

“That’s almost a month from now,” Suzanne said. 

“I was just thinking,” Bitty said cautiously, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m moving into the hockey Haus in the fall. I’m gonna be cleared to get back to exercise here in a couple of weeks, an’ after all this I’m gonna have to work extra hard to be back in shape for next season.” 

“What are you saying, Rachel?” Mama asked suspiciously. 

“I think I wanna stay at Samwell over break,” Bitty said carefully. “Get a head start on conditioning. Madison’s great an’ all, but the gyms aren’t good and the rink is so far from the house.” 

_ And if I stay here I can get my boobs lopped off without you being the wiser,  _ he thought. 

Suzanne frowned. “I see. Well, I’ll talk it over with your father. Where would you stay?” 

“At the hockey Haus,” Bitty said. 

“How much is it for summer room and board there?” 

Bitty shrugged. “Doubt anything,” he said. “It’s just empty during the summer, I bet they have to pay someone to come do upkeep, an’ they could skip that if I was there.” 

Suzanne hummed noncommittally. “I’ll talk to Richard. Get some sleep, honey.” 

Bitty obediently rolled over in bed, feeling strangely accomplished. He was getting better at lying to his parents, but this lie had slotted perfectly into place, all moving parts fitting together perfectly. 

He was going to do it. He was finally going to have a flat fucking chest.


	8. Surgery Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: lots of discussions of medical situations (nothing explicit), discussions of trans men's chests with traditionally-feminine words (boobs, tiddies, etc), mentions of surgical complications in the hypothetical, discussions of potentially regretting top surgery

Coach Hall didn’t back out on his offer to put Bitty up during his recovery. Apparently he and his wife had hosted athletes recovering from surgery before, because when Bitty and Shitty (who was the designated Nurse Friend) showed up at their house the night before the surgery, Leah Hall answered the door and immediately started laying out the game plan. 

“So good to see you, Eric,” she said with a big grin. She talked fast, and it always took Bitty a little while to get used to it. “You too, Shitty. Come on back, I’ll show you the infirmary.” She winked and led them through the entryway, living room, and hallway, then down a spiral staircase to a finished basement. They stood in a small rec room, with a small TV set with a gaming setup, a couch, and a mini-fridge. Through two doors Bitty could see a bedroom and a bathroom. A screen door, at the rear of the room, revealed that they were in a walkout basement. 

“Here’s where you’ll be,” Leah said, gesturing to the bedroom. “Towels and everything are in the bathroom, through there. Shitty, you can sleep in here on the couch, or there’s an armchair in the bedroom. Eric, do you have a supplies list from the surgeon?” 

It took Bitty a solid second to catch up with what she said, and he fumbled through his bag until he found the list. “Uh, yep. We have most of it but we’ve gotta--” 

“Yeah, we figured we’d go out to CVS and grab Taco Bell on the way back,” Shitty said. 

“We’ve got some gauze and tape and stuff, but if there’s more specific stuff on the list you’ll want to get that,” Leah said. “Post-op supplies are in that bathroom. Oh, and Eric, you’ll want to get some eye drops.” 

“Why?” Bitty asked. His list didn’t say anything about that. 

“I’ve got some. For like, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh when my eyes get red,” Shitty said vaguely, catching himself before he said anything about his weed usage in front of his coach’s wife. “But you should get your own,” he said smoothly. 

Leah rolled her eyes. “I won’t tell Marcus, Shitty,” she said. “But no, anesthesia can make your eyes really dry.”  Bitty was about to ask how she knew that when she said, “I’m an anesthesiologist.” 

Bitty blinked. “Do you work at the--” 

“No, I work in Norwood,” Leah interrupted with a laugh. “I wouldn’t be on your team anyway, I’m mainly in the ICU and you’ll be outpatient.” She took the supply list and scanned it. “This looks good. You’ll also want a ten foot--” 

“Ten foot phone charger,” Shitty interrupted, reaching down and pulling a cord from the side pocket of Bitty’s bag. “One step ahead of you, Lee.” 

Leah leveled a serious look at Bitty. “Now, Eric, remind me. How long ago did you get the concussion?” 

“Four and a half weeks ago. My surgeon cleared me,” he said. 

Leah nodded, back to her pleasant attitude. “Good. I take concussions very seriously, especially when you get anesthesia in the mix.” She pointed towards the screen door. “One last thing and then I’ll leave you to it. You can come in and out of the house through this door but make sure it gets locked. Key’s on the bed. It sticks a little sometimes so make sure it gets pulled all the way closed.” 

“Sure thing,” Shitty said, giving Leah a thumbs-up. 

“Alright, boys, have fun. Marcus will be home in a while, and then we’re going out tonight, so don’t burn the place down.” Leah headed towards the stairs, but pointed at Shitty. “No more than four hockey players in the house at a time, including you two, alright?” 

Shitty held up his hands in surrender. “I would never. I don’t even like hockey players.” 

Leah laughed and left. Shitty dropped his bag to the floor. 

“Who the hell is Marcus?” Bitty whispered. 

Shitty laughed loudly. “That’s the coach, bruh.” 

“Somehow I never considered that he had a first name,” Bitty said. 

The next morning Shitty drove him to the surgery center. Along the way, despite it being six in the morning in the first week of summer, he received no fewer than eight texts from members of the team wishing him luck. There was even one from Jack, who had been warming up to him considerably in the last few months. 

_ “Best of luck, Bittle,” _ it read.  _ “I’m in Montreal so I can’t help much, but if there’s anything I can do from afar let me know.”  _

It was this text more than almost everything else that helped Bitty’s anxiety. 

As he sat in pre-op, waiting for the nurse to come back and start his IV, he started to panic. What if he regretted the surgery afterwards? What if it all went wrong and he died on the table and  _ that  _ was how his parents found out he was trans? What if something went wrong and he  _ didn’t  _ die, but for some reason he had to come out to his parents because he was horribly disfigured? 

Shitty saw the look on his face and leaned forward in his chair. “Whoa, hey Bits, what’s up? You good?” 

Bitty blew out a shaky breath and tried to take a deep breath in, but he only succeeded in a very short inhale. “I don’t like hospitals,” he whispered. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole reason he was upset. “I’ve got--needles, I don’t like them, I can’t--Shits, what am I doing?” 

Shitty scooted his chair closer. “Can I hold your hand, Bits?” 

Bitty nodded, starting to tremble all over. For once, the prospect of being touched wasn’t a problem, and both of Shitty’s warm hands held one of his. 

“Alright, my guy, let’s talk,” Shitty said quietly, soothingly. “You’re in good hands here, they do this surgery, what, weekly?” he asked a passing nurse. 

“Something like that,” the nurse said casually. “It’s all very routine, Eric.” 

“Yeah, see? And your shrink, you got cleared for this. You’ve wanted this for a long time, my dude.” 

“What if I regret it?” Bitty whispered. 

Shitty shrugged. “We’ll deal with that  _ if  _ we have to, but not right now. Tell me, brah, you want your tiddies gone, gut feeling, right now?” 

Bitty was nodding hard before he even fully processed the question. 

“There we go,” Shitty said. “Now, you can put it off if you absolutely wanna, but it sounds like you just got some pregame jitters. That sound about right?” 

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. 

“You’re gonna be fine, my dude,” Shitty said. “Promise. And if you regret it later, you can blame me. That’s totally chill.” 

Bitty tried another deep breath. He got a little farther this time, but still came up short of a full breath. 

“And as for the not liking hospitals bit, yeah, I’m with you there,” Shitty said casually. “But this is by far the safest place for you to get this done. You rather get them tiddies gone on the Haus kitchen table?” 

Bitty laughed at this image in spite of himself. “No,” he muttered, tears finally filling his eyes. 

“No one likes getting IVs. Just like, think about it as a necessary evil. A little pain, a little anxiety, in exchange for a coupla really choice scars and not having boobs anymore.” 

“Stop talking about my boobs,” Bitty said with a little laugh. His shivers were subsiding, and he remembered the support his friends had sent his way. 

“Fuck, bruh, I’ve been holding back talking about tiddies around you since we met so you wouldn’t get dysphoric. Let me have this morning,” Shitty said, but his tone was light and Bitty could tell he was joking. 

“Alright, but after they’re gone you gotta stop,” Bitty said. 

Shitty held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” 

Bitty groaned and took his hand back from Shitty. “Ugh, can’t they just be gone and the whole surgery thing doesn’t have to happen at all?” he asked, burying his face in his hands. 

Shitty laughed. “I fuckin’ wish, brah.” 

Something occurred to Bitty and his head snapped up. “Shits, you gotta promise me somethin’.” 

“Anything,” Shitty said. “Unless it’s about the Dixie Chicks’ new direction--” 

“It’s never gonna be about the Dixie Chicks’ new direction,” Bitty interrupted. “Shits, you gotta promise me you won’t take a video of me comin’ out of anesthesia.” 

“What if you say it’s okay in the moment?” Shitty asked. 

“Not even then,” Bitty said. 

Shitty considered his options. “Can I quote you in text form?” 

“As long as it’s not too embarrassing and it’s not going out on real social media,” Bitty said. 

“Then I will not take video or photos of you coming out of anesthesia,” Shitty said. “Promise.” 

Shitty shook Bitty’s hand to seal the deal, all businesslike, and then grinned. 

“Alright, Eric,” a nurse said, stepping up and looking over a clipboard. “You ready?” 

Bitty gulped and looked towards Shitty, who nodded encouragingly. “Yes,” he said, his voice tiny. 

The nurse put in his IV, and Bitty very nearly passed out then and there. Shitty bravely held his hand and said nothing when Bitty came very close to actually crushing his fingers from squeezing too hard. 

“All done,” the nurse said, her smile kind as she cleaned up. “I’m going to go ahead and take you back so we can get you started. Okay?” 

Bitty nodded and looked to Shitty, who was smiling widely. 

“You’re gonna kick surgery’s ass, Bits, just you wait,” he said. “Hug?” 

Bitty nodded again and Shitty stood to give him a bone-crushing hug. “I’m proud of you, my guy,” Shitty said before he pulled back. 

“Thanks,” Bitty whispered. 

“You can go back to the waiting room now,” the nurse told Shitty as she unlocked the wheels of Bitty’s bed. 

“Can do,” Shitty said obligingly. “Later, Bits. Have fun in there.” 

Bitty scoffed. “So much fun,” he said. 

As the nurse rolled Bitty away he closed his eyes and breathed as deeply as he could manage. He thought of his friends and their sweet texts this morning, their hugs goodbye a couple of days ago as they left for summer break. Ransom and Holster had sandwiched him in a hug, pressing him so tight between them that he assumed his skull would crack between their ribcages, and this morning they had each sent promises to visit with movies and snacks once he was back at Coach Hall’s house. Lardo had sent a number of gifs, all saying some variation of, “You got it, dude,” like the kid from Full House. When they left for break they gave Bitty a fistbump and ruffled his hair, then doubled back and hugged him hard. 

Jack hadn’t hugged him, but when he found the cookies Bitty had slipped into his duffel at the airport, he had sent a text thanking him, and he had even added a heart emoji, making Bitty’s own heart do all kinds of illegal and embarrassing things. 

A few minutes later when the nurses started putting him to sleep, he was calm, bolstered by the love from his friends and the knowledge that, should he regret this surgery later, Shitty was willing to take the fall. 


	9. Surgery Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mentions of hospitals and whatnot, references to drugs (prescription) and being high from said drugs, mention of vomit and nausea, one brief mention of wanting to die, some deeply unsanitary references, references to homophobia and transphobia 
> 
> this chapter makes references to the different meanings of "bless your heart" alluding to the fact that the posture and tone of voice of the speaker indicates the true meaning of the phrase. this chapter uses the meaning often accompanied by zero sarcasm and no hand pressed to the chest. source: i am from oklahoma and have many, many relatives who are from very small towns in oklahoma and arkansas

Bitty didn’t remember much of the first day. 

The surgery went well, no complications and they’d let him look at the results when he woke up, before they bandaged him all up, apparently. He didn’t remember that. He was only told this later, by Shitty, who had been there as well. Shitty had luckily ignored Bitty’s wishes very, very briefly, and snapped a picture to show him later, having been around enough surgery himself to know that memory in the first, like, three hours after anesthesia was very spotty. 

Once Bitty was awake and cognizant enough to hold a real conversation, about six that evening, Shitty showed him the picture. In it, Bitty was propped up in a hospital bed, eyes bleary, wires and tubes in his hands and nose and attached to his chest… it was a mess. But he was looking down at his own chest, at two thin, angry red lines in faint arcs across his pecs, and his chest was… flat. Really, really flat. 

That moment, seeing his chest on Shitty’s shitty cell phone screen, was one of the first things Bitty actually remembered that first day. 

The first thing he remembered was throwing up in Shitty’s car in the parking lot of Jamba Juice. 

It turned out that recovering from surgery fucking sucked. Bitty’d had his tonsils out as a kid, but then he had been admitted, since under anesthesia he had an allergic reaction to one of the meds, but this time around they knew to avoid that medication, so there was no reason to admit him. Because the procedure was outpatient, he had to endure a thirty minute drive in Shitty’s Jeep, which was always going to be bad even without Shitty’s driving. Then there was the business of getting comfortable in a strange bed when he couldn’t put any kind of pressure on his front or sides. Then there was the not inconsiderable nausea, the crying jags that popped up whenever he was awake despite him not being in any emotional distress at all, it was just kind of what was happening, and the relatively minor but still-a-big-deal-at-the-time annoyance of the hospital bracelet he still wore. 

Bitty was miserable. 

And then the pain set in, about an hour after they made it back to Coach Hall’s house, and he kind of wanted to die. 

“But Bits,” he remembered Shitty saying during one of his very brief fully-conscious moments. “If you died you wouldn’t get to enjoy your flat-fucking chest.” 

“I would leave a very pretty corpse,” Bitty remembered slurring, and even he, at the moment, reeled a little at how dark he was being. 

Late that night, once the bleariness had well and truly worn off and the pain meds he was taking only made him a little high, he looked at Shitty. 

“I’m sorry I threw up in your car,” he said pitifully. 

Shitty waved a hand dismissively with a grin. “S’no big deal, bud,” he said. “A lot worse things have happened in that Jeep, trust me, my guy.” 

“You’re just saying that,” Bitty said. 

“Oh no,” Shitty said. “Really. I once found a mama opossum and her brand new fuckin’ babies in the backseat. And once Holster had explosive diarrhea in there. Don’t tell him I told you.” 

Bitty smiled. “I’m gonna tell him.” 

“You better fuckin’ not, Bits,” Shitty warned. “Do  _ you  _ wanna see what he’d do to the poor Jeep if he knew I blabbed? You think it smells bad now--I had to get the whole thing deep cleaned twice after Holster, I do  _ not  _ want to see, or smell, what he’d do in there  _ on purpose.” _

Bitty laughed, but it was cut short when a stab of pain through his chest stopped him, and he winced. 

“It feel that bad?” Shitty asked. “Or are you being a weenie?” 

“I had major surgery this morning, B. ‘Shitty’ Knight,” Bitty whined. “I think I’ve earned the right to be a weenie for a little while.” 

Shitty grinned proudly. “Damn straight you have. Treat yo’ self.” 

There was a quiet knock on the door and Coach Hall stuck his head in. 

“How’s it going, Bittle?” he asked. He wore a band t-shirt and jeans, which surprised Bitty more than it really should have. It was his house, after all. 

“Bad,” Bitty complained. 

“He’s fine, Coach,” Shitty said. “Just being a weenie.” 

Hall laughed. “Glad to see you conscious, though,” he said. 

Bitty frowned. “Did you come in earlier?” he asked, wracking his brain for any indication that he had seen his coach at any point since he showed up at his house the night before. 

“Yeah, a little after you got back,” Hall said. “Don’t worry about it, I just came to check in.” 

“Everything’s a-ok, boss,” Shitty promised, saluting casually. 

“Don’t push your luck, Knight, I can still kick  _ you  _ out,” Hall said mock-seriously. He turned back to Bitty. “Bittle, how long do you think it’ll be before you’re up to visitors? I’ve been fielding messages from the team all day--Knight, I thought that was  _ your  _ job?” 

Shitty held up his hands. “I’m just the Itty Bitty nurse,” he said. “All meeting requests must go through my social media director Lardo Duan.” 

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Bitty told Hall. 

Hall leveled a stern look at Bitty that he’d only seen on the ice. “Take care of yourself, son. Don’t push yourself to be more active than you feel up to.” 

Bitty waffled. “Then maybe the day after tomorrow,” he said. “What d--it’s still Tuesday, right?” 

Shitty laughed. “‘Course, bruh, I woulda told you if you were out cold for a full fuckin’ day.” 

“Then Thursday, maybe,” Bitty said, ignoring Shitty’s colorful commentary. 

Hall smiled, knocked once more on the doorframe, and left. 

“If you need anything,” Hall called back to them. “Text first before you come trying to find me.” 

“That means he’s gonna fuck,” Shitty whispered. 

“I heard that, Knight,” Hall yelled. 

“Fuck,” Shitty whispered. 

Late the next morning when Bitty finally awoke he saw Shitty sitting in the armchair next to his bed, in almost the same position he’d been in the night before. He was wearing different clothes, probably. Bitty couldn’t quite recall what he had been wearing. 

Shitty was reading from a literal physical book, and it was a long second of searching through his memory before Bitty realized that no, he’d never actually seen Shitty reading from a literal physical book. 

“Help you, brah?” Shitty asked without looking up. 

“Are you doing homework?” Bitty asked. “Bit late to be starting assignments from the spring semester, isn’t it?” 

Shitty smirked at his book. “Tryin’ to get into fuckin’ law school, man. Turns out it’s kinda hard.” 

“Sounds bad.” 

Shitty shrugged. “Eh. Constitutional law stuff, it’s pretty cool sometimes.” 

“Sounds fake.” 

Shitty finally looked up and grinned. “This one, see, Clark v. Community for Creative Nonviolence, in ‘84 they tried to say sleeping is an act of free speech.”

Bitty laughed. “That’s--” 

“Nah, nah, see,” Shitty said excitedly, leaning forward, “they were doing a protest in DC about the treatment of homeless people and they weren’t allowed to do it, so they said that being able to sleep in the tents they set up was an act of free speech.” 

“So sleeping is free speech,” Bitty said. 

“No,” Shitty said, pointing at Bitty and sounding fascinated.  _ “Because  _ Community for Creative Nonviolence  _ lost.  _ And no one’s overturned the ruling.”

“Is this going to be your soapbox?” Bitty asked. 

Shitty scoffed. “Not even a little bit, my guy, marriage equality still hasn’t been passed and there are bathroom bills in five different state senates. Plus, like, the government has secretly been infiltrated by the Klan for generations and--” 

“Can we shelve this conversation for a day when I’m not, like, recovering from major surgery, or at least after I get some pain pills?” Bitty asked. 

Shitty blinked. “Oh! Right. My B.” He sprang up and puttered around, and a couple of minutes later handed Bitty a small handful of pills and a glass of water. 

“You want to eat first, that’s supposed to keep the nausea…?” Shitty asked, but he trailed off when Bitty downed the entire handful of pills in one go. “Alright.” 

“I will be hungry in approximately one hour,” Bitty said, handing back the glass. “Maybe.” 

Shitty bit back a smirk. “Yessir.” 

He made to sit back down, but stopped short, his ass hovering six inches from the seat. “Wait!” he cried, and leapt back up. “BRB.” 

“Did you just say ‘BRB’ out loud,” Bitty asked in a deadpan as Shitty scuttled out of the room. 

“Sure as fuck did,” Shitty said when he came back a moment later, holding a clumsily cellophane-wrapped basket, which he sat carefully in Bitty’s lap. 

“Who’s--” Bitty started, a swell of emotion starting in his stomach, but he cut himself off when he saw what the basket held. 

Several different kinds of sausage, beef jerky, tins of nuts, and blocks of cheese, plus one small box that claimed to hold “shortbread cookies”. He knew who had sent it even before he found the little card attached to the handle. 

_ “Bittle,”  _ the card read. 

_ “Wishing you well in your recovery. Thanks for your effort on the ice this year. Sorry the concussion ended your season early. Tell Shitty I said hi. Eat more protein.  _

_ -Jack Zimmermann”  _

Bitty laughed and handed the card to Shitty. 

“I fucking know, Bits, it’s so  _ him,” _ Shitty said. “He signed it with his whole goddamn name. Half the card is about your “effort” on the ice. I’m never letting him live this down.” 

“No, don’t,” Bitty said. “It’s sweet. He’s trying, bless his heart.” 

Shitty narrowed his eyes at Bitty. “Fucking hold the phone,” he said. “You’ve got a crush on our dear captain.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bitty said hurriedly. “Please move the basket. I am going back to sleep.” 

“No, no,” Shitty said even as he took the basket away. “Admit it, Bits, you got it bad for Jack.” 

“I do not,” Bitty objected, his face turning red. “Now please let me sleep. I have had major surgery and I really must rest.” 

“Know how I can tell you’re a fucking liar, Bits?” Shitty asked. “Because when you lie you turn into goddamn Jane Austen.” 

“I am a southern prince, sir, and I will not tolerate this slander,” Bitty said, pulling the covers up to his chin. He winced and whimpered as he somehow pulled at his stitches. 

“Oh shit, careful,” Shitty said, dropping his teasing and raising his hands as though to grab Bitty and ease him to lay down flatter, but he held back. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bitty said, panting a little. “Really, Shits, I’m good.” 

“I shoulda been more careful with you, Bits, I’m sorry,” Shitty said. 

“Shitty, I swear to God,” Bitty warned. “Drop it. I’m fine.” 

Shitty sat back cautiously. “Alright, bud. You really going to sleep?” 

Bitty sighed as the pain subsided a little. “I’m gonna try to.” 

“Good plan. And when you wake up I will resume teasing you about your deep and undying love for Jack Laurent Zimmermann.” 

“Goodnight, Shitty,” Bitty said. 

“Nighty-night!” Shitty sang. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may be a few days before the next chapter! im going back home for christmas despite not celebrating it and the place im sleeping doesnt have wifi. i promise the story isnt abandoned, tho.


	10. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: brief mentions of surgical sites healing, references to regretting gender confirmation surgery, mentions of bad sports injuries

Jack was the first one back at the Haus in August. Well, after Bitty. 

Bitty had stayed with Coach Hall for a week and a half before he felt recovered enough to go home, and Shitty left for Boston not long after. Bitty only had the range of motion of a T. rex at that point, so he resorted to making peace with the one lax bro staying over the summer next door so he could get things out of tall cabinets. Spencer was a pain in the behind during the school year while he was around his buds, but when it was just him he was okay, and he only sometimes complained when Bitty turned up at the lax house door with a sheepish look, saying he needed something or other down from on top of the fridge. 

Bitty’s chest still looked fucking awful, but it was healing slowly but surely. After the post-op binder came off and the stitches dissolved, it looked better, and the swelling died down after only a few days, letting him really see the results for himself. And they were wonderful. 

Shitty texted at least weekly to ask if he regretted the surgery yet. He never did. 

When Jack arrived from Montreal, a full week early for first skate, he didn’t even make it to the living room before he was raising a fuss. 

“Bittle?” he called, looking like he could be an NHL star in that horrific orange Flyers cap, his duffel still slung over his shoulder as he stood in the front hall, looking into the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” Bitty called back, hurriedly pulling on a shirt and emerging from his room. He had taken to just going shirtless whenever he could, both because it was the middle of summer and because he  _ could  _ now. He now understood why Shitty was constantly nude or at least shirtless. 

He leaned over the railing at the top of the stairs, grinning at Jack. 

Jack sighed. “Oh good, I was worried something had happened to you.” 

Bitty furrowed his brow. “What are you talkin’ about?” 

Jack pointed to the kitchen. “I didn’t want to believe that your kitchen could ever look like this if you were still alive.” 

Bitty’s eyes widened and he hurried down the stairs, breezing past Jack into the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink--high in the sink--and food spills all over the counters. Evidence of dozens of bakes was scattered around, pie tins, rolling pins, errant flour… 

“Oh, right,” he said. “I, uh. Haven’t had much range of motion until just a couple weeks ago and it’s been… Well, haven’t been able to catch up to the mess I made while I had T. rex arms.” 

Jack looked like he was biting back a smile. “Uh-huh,” he said. 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Fine, I didn’t know anyone was coming back so soon. What’re you doing here?” 

Jack put a hand to his chest. “Ouch,” he said. “Vous ne pouvez pas dire quelque chose de gentil à votre capitaine?” 

“I don’t know what you just said but I’ll assume it was insulting,” Bitty said lightly, breezing past him again into the living room. 

Jack followed, dropping his duffel in the hall and taking three long strides into the room to sit in a nasty armchair that, to its credit, wasn’t nearly as bad as the green couch, which Bitty gave a wide berth as he sat in the one not-gross chair in the room. 

“How have you been?” Jack asked, his voice far too serious. 

Bitty shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I’ve got full range of motion and I’m cleared for moderate exercise. Full contact at the beginning of next week.” 

Jack smiled. “Glad to hear it. And you’re--never mind, I, uh… Never mind,” he said quickly. 

“And I’m what, Jack?” Bitty asked. “Come on, I’m a big boy.” 

Jack shot him an annoyed glance before he tried again. “I was going to ask if you were happy with the results,” he said, his face turning bright red. 

Bitty laughed. “I am. But Shitty has let me know that if I’m not, I’m allowed to blame him for everything.” He paused, eyeing Jack, who sat hunched forward with his knees on his elbows and hands clasped together, like he was speaking some hard truths instead of catching up with a friend after a long summer. “And, uh, thanks. For the gift basket,” he said. 

That put a tiny smile on Jack’s face. “Well, I, ah… Knew you weren’t going to get enough protein otherwise,” he said. 

Bitty bit back another laugh. “Yeah, uh-huh.” 

Jack settled in, finally taking off his godawful baseball cap. “Have you gotten back to conditioning?” he asked. 

“What, we can’t talk like normal people?” Bitty asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

Jack shrugged. “This is how normal people talk,” he said defensively. 

Bitty elected to ignore that in lieu of turning it on him later when the rest of the boys were back. “I’ve done some,” he answered. “Mostly cardio.” 

“Ah, you’ve got to get your strength back up, Bittle,” Jack admonished lightly. “Don’t want Yale to snap you in half.” 

Bitty winced. “You know I don’t like that kind of talk,” he said quietly, of a mind to get up and leave, but Jack instantly looked chastened. 

“I’m sorry, Bittle. I just forgot,” Jack said. 

“I’m doin’ as much as my body lets me, Jack,” Bitty said defensively, putting his nose in the air. “I’ve got some ice time in on top of cardio, an’ I just started back with resistance.” 

Jack smiled tentatively. “Good. I’m going to the gym this evening, before dinner. I could use a spotter,” he said, and Bitty’s heart absolutely did not do confusing and upsetting things when Jack smiled wider at him. 

Bitty rolled his eyes and got up. “I see through your little ruse,” he said. “You just wanna take me on a date.” 

Jack laughed. “You fucking wish, Bittle.” 

He did. He did wish. Fucking hell. 

“If you’ll excuse me,  _ mon capitaine,”  _ Bitty said with a grand bow, electing to cover up his confusing emotions with chirping, “I was in the middle of transcribing my very famous vlog.” 

“Gym at 5:30,” Jack called after him as Bitty left, climbing the stairs and trying desperately to leave those feelings downstairs. God, if he had a major crush on Jack all year, with him living across the hall? Pure torture. Historically, he could barely stand a crush on someone he saw once a week. 

He would go to the gym with Jack, though. Lord, miss out on seeing Jack all sweaty and ripped in his too-form-fitting workout gear? He’d rather eat a store-bought frozen pie unevenly heated up in Betsy. No self-respecting gay man like himself would give up that chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supes sorry for the delay! i got accepted to an internship that i had to prep for very quickly, only to find out that im furloughed due to the shutdown because the place is federally funded. so i should have some time to write going forward, at least until all that ends (hopefully soon)!  
> i have to warn yall tho, ive gotten past the point where i had it all laid out in my head and could crank out two chapters a day, so further updates wont be at the breakneck pace they were at the beginning


	11. On Cookies and Having It Real Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mentions of sex and sexual-adjacent situations, mention of fetishizing trans bodies, internalized and self-directed transphobia, one gendered insult (not used as an insult)

As expected, the week Bitty spent alone in the Haus with Jack was somehow more difficult than living in the Haus alone for two months while recovering from surgery. 

Not in a bad way, really. Jack wasn’t a difficult roommate or anything. Bitty joined him at the gym most evenings, and Jack kept to himself most of the rest of the time. 

No, that week was rough because it gave Bitty a taste of what could be. 

It was one thing to be in the Haus with Jack when the others were there too, feeling the Haus full of activity at all hours and knowing that you were bound to see someone in the kitchen making ramen or dancing wildly to the unnecessarily catchy song playing over a commercial at any time, day or night. 

But with the Haus empty except Jack, Bitty could somehow feel the air between them change, like an invisible cord tethered them to each other and he could always sense where Jack was. Bitty longed for the other boys to return soon so he wouldn’t feel compelled at every moment to go see what Jack was doing. Keeping walls, ideally more than one, between them was a good idea. Any interaction between them alone in the Haus felt obscene, like at any moment talk was going to turn from the best taco combinations to how many babies they wanted together and how they should probably start on that right the fuck now. 

Other times that tension was gone and it was just Bitty and Jack again, just friends and nothing more and he couldn’t remember why he had been so worked up last night. After all, Jack was straight, and if he was attracted to Bitty it meant he saw him as a woman, and that was a turn-off if anything was. 

They were much better as friends. That’s what Bitty had to keep reminding himself. 

Jack just wasn’t into him, and that was okay. He had known for a long time that dating as a trans man would be difficult, and this was no different. Jack was simply the first in a long line of unrequited crushes he would undoubtedly have. Guys who were into dudes but not trans men, guys who were into girls and thought of him as one, fetishizing weirdos who were turned on by the thought of dudes with vaginas, lesbian women who misread his haircut and clothes--there were huge swaths of the eligible population he was prepared to have his heart broken by. 

He never once predicted that he would have to  _ live with  _ his crush, though. 

Two days before first skate, mercifully, Shitty returned to the Haus. 

“Bwahaha!” he cackled, dropping a massive duffel in the entryway and holding his fists low and clenched to his sides like an anime villain. Bitty looked up from the TV in the living room to see him raise his fists into the air. “I have returned, and I’m fuckin’  _ horny  _ for hugs!” 

“I’m not hugging you ‘til you rephrase,” Jack countered from the kitchen, shaking his protein shake bottle with a huge grin on his face. 

“I have returned,” Shitty repeated in the same loud voice, “and I’m fuckin’  _ rock hard  _ for hugs!” 

“Nope, two strikes, you’re out,” Jack said, turning to go back into the kitchen. 

Shitty dropped his pose. “Aw, come on,” he whined, slumping into the kitchen behind Jack. “I gots’ta have a hug from my best bitch.” 

Bitty snorted and hauled himself off the couch. 

“‘Bitch’, of course, used in the non-gendered, non-derisive form,” Shitty amended, still following Jack as he walked around the table in the middle of the room and out into the entryway where Jack started up the stairs. 

“Fine, one more try,” Jack said, stopping two stairs up and turning around. 

“I’m… greatly desiring, not necessarily carnally, an embrace from my dearest friend?” Shitty said hopefully, his eyes bright again. 

Jack laughed and nearly tackled him. “You piece of shit.” 

“That’s my name!” Shitty said happily, hugging Jack hard. 

Bitty watched all this while trying not to crack up, waiting for his turn for a Shitty hug. 

Finally Jack shoved Shitty off lightly. “Gym at 5:30, you in?” he asked as he headed up the stairs. 

“Nope,” Shitty said cheerfully. He turned his attention to Bitty. “Eyy, how’s it been?” His shit-eating grin as he pulled Bitty into a hug told him he was speaking of the living arrangements for the past week. 

Bitty hesitated until Shitty pulled back, cast a meaningful glance at Jack’s glorious, perfectly contoured, jeans-clad ass as it and its owner ascended the stairs. “It’s been… a time.” He felt his cheeks heat up and cleared his throat nervously. 

Shitty punched him lightly in the arm. “I hear wedding bells a’comin’?” he asked, dropping his voice low. 

Bitty glared at him before glancing up the stairs to check if Jack had heard. He was still moving, so maybe not, but there was no way to tell without asking him and he’d be damned if he ever did that. 

“Not anytime soon,” he said. To Shitty’s crestfallen expression he said, “But you’re not completely wrong.” 

Shitty’s eyes widened. He dragged Bitty by the arm back to the couch, leaving his bag in the entryway and the front door slightly open. “Spill. Dish. Whatever nineties teen girl slang you want. Gimme.” 

“Get your life in order,” Bitty retorted, pointing at the mess in the entryway. “Then we talk.” 

Shitty threw back his head and groaned. “God, why do you hate me, Bits?” 

“It’s just who I am as a person. Go on now,” Bitty urged, shooing Shitty off of the couch. 

Shitty groaned and complained the entire time he dragged his duffel up to his room, got another one from his Jeep, dropped that one in his room, too, and finally closed the front door. 

“Alright, alright,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch next to Bitty who was channel surfing. “What’s up. Gimme the goss.” 

“Y’know, Food Network Stars starts soon,” Bitty said, pointing at the TV guide on the screen. “It’s Chopped right now, but the dessert round’s always the best anyway.” 

Shitty stared at him suspiciously. “Mmkay,” he said reluctantly. “You don’t gotta talk now, that’s fine. I’m gonna relentlessly point out when you flirt with Jack, though, you know that, right?” 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Please don’t,” he said. “I’m already acutely aware that I flirt with him without meaning to. I don’t need someone else to point it out.” 

“Okay, okay,” Shitty conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. “Tell me one thing, though.” 

Bitty cast a wary look at him. 

“Have you, or have you not, subconsciously baked his favorite shit at least once since he got back?” 

Bitty remembered the butter pecan cookies he’d found himself making just last night, and how he had only remembered how much Jack had raved about them last time when he was pulling them out of the oven. 

“...Maybe.” 

Shitty nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” 


	12. Frogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mentions of drug usage, implied underage drinking, references to being closeted for safety, mentions of scars and whatnot from top surgery (healed)

When the frogs arrived for the welcome party the night before first skate, Bitty found himself faced with a conundrum he hadn’t considered before: how, when, and whether to come out to them. He had been out to the rest of the team for so long without issue that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that there would be new kids on the team every year he would have to consider. 

Luckily he had a while to think about it at the welcome party, because Shitty, Ransom, and Holster monopolized the frogs to come up with their nicknames. 

“Can’t have a repeat of last year,” Holster said. “Forgetting Bits’ nickname.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ransom agreed. “What do you think, Shitty? Feeling creative?” 

Shitty grinned. “Hell fucking yeah I am.” He drew himself up stiffly and held out both elbows to Ransom and Holster. “Shall we, gentlemen?” 

Both Ransom and Holster nodded regally. “We shall,” Holster said as they both took Shitty’s elbows and let him lead them to where the frogs were congregating in the corner, awkwardly apart from everyone else like gazelles in the open savannah. 

Of all the prospective frogs who had come to last year's taddy tour, only three got into Samwell  _ and  _ made the team. Chris Chow, a hyperactive but very sweet boy with braces, was the loudest, exclaiming over every “first” with the team, regardless of the event's inconsequence (first fist bump with another frog, first with an upperclassman, first dinner with the team, first toast, first time at Coach Hall's house, and so on). Bitty marveled at his enthusiasm and then balked when he found out that Chris was a  _ goaltender.  _ How on God's green earth did this child survive even one game in the net, and even more importantly,  _ was it possible he was crazy enough to be their new  _ **_primary goaltender_ _?_ **

Then there were the new defensemen, who were night and day. William Poindexter was willowy and ginger as all get out, awkward, and reserved, and Bitty saw a working class small town boy underneath the frat boy costume he was obviously uncomfortable in. Derek Nurse, on the other hand, was the embodiment of chill, with multiple visible tattoos, a beanie even at this semi formal affair, and a slouching posture that made Bitty’s back hurt. Derek constantly sounded stoned, and his clothes, phone, watch, and shoes all subtly indicated wealth. The new defensemen stood on either side of Chris, William with his arms crossed and Derek’s posture more stiff than earlier after a loud and tense disagreement that Chris had desperately tried to quell. 

As Holster, Shitty, and Ransom approached the frogs they drew unconsciously closer to each other, intimidated by the confident and whimsical approach of their elder teammates. Holster let go of Shitty's elbow and stood up straight, stiffly, his hands flat against his back in a parade rest (Bitty was from the small town South; every cishet dude in town seriously considered joining the military, and most actually did at some point or another. Bitty knew military brats when he saw them.) Ransom glanced over and a moment later copied Holster in a crude facsimile of his parade rest. Bitty guessed he either had no family in the military or stances were different in the Canadian armed forces. Shitty took no notice of either of them and put his hands on his hips. 

“Frogs, your attention please,” Shitty said, completely unnecessarily. “It is time to determine what your nicknames will be for your playing career at Samwell. We will take into account any nicknames you had in juniors or your high school team, but they probably won't be the same. If you hate what we pick, speak up tonight or live with your new name quietly until you graduate.” 

“When we come to you, please state your full name and any past nicknames,” Holster stated, and in his tone of voice Bitty heard a drill sergeant, which was endlessly funny to him. Imagining Holster’s soldier father (probably) reacting to his son doing the  _ Single Ladies _ dance or picking a fight about  _ Golden Girls _ made Bitty snort and press the heel of his hand to his mouth to stifle the noise so he wouldn't disturb the process. 

“Attempting to suggest other nicknames for us to consider will result in a fine,” Ransom said. “You.” Ransom pointed at William. 

He looked confused and his ears turned bright pink as he shot a glance at Derek and Chris. “William Poindexter…?” 

“Excellent building blocks,” Holster muttered to Shitty. Bitty settled in, just far enough from the two trios to watch unnoticed, his drink mostly forgotten in his hand as he leaned back against the brick fireplace. 

“And previous nicknames?” Ransom asked. 

“I didn't have one in juniors,” William said with a small scowl. “I don't really need one.” 

“No one’s gonna say, ‘hey William Poindexter, offside,’ on the ice, now are they?” Shitty rolled his eyes. 

“Poindexter would be good,” Ransom murmured. 

“Too long,” Shitty said, shaking his head. 

“Not necessarily,” Rans disagreed. “Jake from State Farm was even longer.” 

“No one actually fuckin’ called him that, brah.” 

The frogs shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure what to do while the upperclassmen debated. 

“How's this: Dexter,” Holster suggested, complete with a spooky voice and flourishing gesture. “Dexter, he'll fuck you up. Like the TV show.” 

“Getting closer,” Shitty said thoughtfully. “We're not there yet, but we're getting closer to there.” 

“Pointy,” Ransom suggested. 

“No thanks,” William said quietly with a grimace. 

Shitty chuckled. “That's a fine, my dear.” 

The three upperclassmen were quiet for a moment and William watched them anxiously as though waiting to find out the verdict in a courtroom. 

Shitty elbowed Ransom and Holster at the same time. “I got it I got it,” he said rapidly. 

“What's going on over here?” Jack asked as he joined Bitty by the fireplace. 

“Shh, shh,” Bitty hissed, waving him quiet, but he’d already missed Shitty's proclamation. “Nicknames.” 

“Ah.” 

Ransom and Holster were considering, and simultaneously, as though blessed by the gods of comedic timing, they nodded once at each other and then once at Shitty. 

“Wonderful,” Shitty said. He gestured grandly at the ginger in front of him. “From henceforth, on ice and off, by all members of the Samwell University Men’s Hockey Team, you shall be called ‘Dex.’” 

Jack hummed. “Not his best work,” he said absently. 

“Oh yeah?” Bitty asked as the boys turned their attention to Chris. “What was?” 

“Ransom and Holster, for one,” Jack said, then grinned at Bitty. “Yours is good too. Fits you.” 

Bitty’s stomach fluttered and he had to fight to put a scowl on his face. “I'm not that small.” He couldn't just abandon his Napoleon complex now that he had a flat chest and more confidence. 

“Beg to differ,” Jack said, thankfully turning his gaze elsewhere. “How tall are you anyway, five-two?” 

“I'm five-seven, thank you very much,” Bitty snapped. “And I could do without the chirping, sir, I'm busy.” 

“You don't look busy,” Jack said. 

Bitty snagged his sleeve and hauled him around so their backs were towards the frogs. “I'm tryin' to decide if and when I'm gonna come out to the frogs,” he said quietly. 

“Aha,” Jack said. He rubbed at his chin. “You don't have to tell them.” 

“I know I don't,” Bitty said. “Trust me. I didn't tell people I was trans for most of my life. Granted, I didn't figure it out til just about three years ago. But I never came out to anyone back home. I'm good at not talking about it.” 

Jack shrugged. “True. Up to you, Bittle.” 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the support, captain.” 

“I’m not trans,” Jack said helplessly. “I don’t think I’m much help with trans stuff.” 

Bitty sighed. “Fair,” he conceded. “You’re not.” 

This earned him a noogie. 

Bitty worried about it all night, never seeing a good opportunity to tell the frogs at the party. By the time he walked out the front door of the Haus the next morning for first skate, the boys in tow and Shitty singing the only verse of  _ Oh What a Beautiful Morning _ he knew over and over, he had a plan. 

The frogs, newly dubbed Dex, Nursey, and Chowder, huddled together again in the locker room though their lockers were relatively far apart, whispering to each other. Or, well, Dex and Chowder were both whispering anxiously at each other and Nursey, but Nursey stood completely calmly, gazing over the locker room as though it was a new frontier to explore. 

“Mornin’, boys,” Bitty said cheerfully. 

“Good morning, Bitty!” Chowder sang far too quickly, plastering on a huge grin. 

Bitty stopped in front of their little group, waiting. 

“Um, can we… help you?” Dex asked. 

Bitty pointed wordlessly to the label above the locker they stood in front of. 

“E.R. Bittle,” the label read, and Chowder scrambled out of the way, pulling Dex and Nursey with him when he saw. 

“Sorry, Bitty!” Chowder exclaimed, looking mortified. 

“Oh dang, sorry dude,” Nursey seconded. 

“You’re fine, don’t worry,” Bitty said as he put his things down. “Takes a while to put names with faces, I get it.” 

Bitty shrugged off his jacket and turned to face the room. He took a deep breath before calling out, “Who wants to see scars?” 

Ransom and Holster spun around and Shitty fistpumped. 

“Hell yeah!” Shitty cried. 

“Ooh, I’ve been wondering about ‘em,” Ransom breathed. 

“Take it off!” Holster shouted through cupped hands, and Bitty grinned and winked at Jack, who smiled knowingly. 

He pulled his shirt off and the boys whooped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chowder’s eyes widen and Dex crane his head to get a better look. Nursey just nodded, impressed. 

“Damn, Bits,” Ransom said, stepping closer. “Looks great.” 

“Healing nicely, bruh, good job,” Shitty said with a thumbs up. 

“Oh yeah, Shits, you played nurse, didn’t you?” Holster asked. 

“Sure did,” Shitty said proudly. 

Holster grinned. “Did he say anything crazy while he was coming out of anesthesia?” 

Shitty put his nose into the air. “I have been sworn to secrecy, sir, and I shall not break the bounds of the covenant.” 

“What, are you a priest now?” Jack chirped. 

“Basically.” 

“Come on, Shits, nothing?” Holster whined. 

“Maybe I’ll tell everyone about the explosion in my Jeep,” Shitty said casually, and Holster paled. 

“Never mind,” Holster mumbled. 

“Wow, Bitty,” Chowder breathed. “Did it hurt?” 

“Sure did,” Bitty said. “I had t-rex arms for a bit.” 

Dex snorted. 

“Bup-bup-bup,” Ransom said, holding out a hand to stop Dex. “Any derision towards Mr. Bittle will result in a fine, sir.” 

“I was just laughing about t-rex arms,” Dex mumbled, his ears turning bright pink. 

Ransom considered for a moment, then nodded sagely. “I’ll allow it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning a couple days in advance: the next chapter deals with a rough coming-out. all ends well. i won't spoil further here, but be sure to read the warnings at the beginning of the chapter when i put it up. 
> 
> (i give myself a two chapter buffer between writing and posting while writing long fics, and i currently have one chapter finished. once i finish another I will post the next, and so on)


	13. Mama and Coach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mentions of bad acne, lots of misgendering and deadnaming, mention of genitalia, being scared of one's father, brief discussions of surgery and scars, references to conversion therapy, transphobia, homophobia, reference to homophobic violence, references to regretting transition (hypothetical), references to getting disowned or kicked out (in the hypothetical), and panic reactions
> 
> going to say up front that i don't believe that taking steps to transition medically or legally is a prerequisite for being trans or being taken seriously as a trans person. my headcanon is that bitty feels the same but felt desperate in this chapter. onwards.

In late October Bitty began to panic. 

He’d started taking testosterone two weeks into the semester, and his voice was starting to deepen. He’d already gotten the acne back he’d managed to age out of during his first puberty, and he now looked like he’d smeared a greasy pepperoni pizza on his face daily for the last month. He hadn’t noticed any hair growth yet, but he knew that wasn’t too far away. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain his flat chest to his parents come Family Weekend, though. 

Since Bitty hadn’t gone home to Georgia all summer and then had started right back up with practice at the start of the school year, his parents were chomping at the bit to see him. He’d tried to explain that sophomores’ parents didn’t usually come to Family Weekend, but Mama had gotten all defensive about how she “hasn’t seen my baby girl in months, Rachel, I gotta make sure you’re doin’ alright.” After that, Bitty had reluctantly agreed, and as soon as he hung up he went into Shitty’s room and paced back and forth. 

“I can’t hide all this,” he said, gesturing to himself. 

Shitty, fully nude on his bed with books spread out around him, just watched him pace. “Uhh, no ‘fense my guy, but did you think you were just never gonna see them again once you got surgery and hormones?” 

“I didn’t think that far ahead!” Bitty said, continuing to pace. “Shitty, you know my life. I don’t think very far ahead. I don’t even know what I want to be when I grow up. I’m only majoring in American Studies because it’s the most food related classes and I can’t major in hockey.” 

“That’d be tight if you could,” Shitty mused. “Jack would be the first one to sign up.” 

“Shitty, focus,” Bitty said. “What am I gonna do?” 

Shitty pursed his lips. “I dunno, Bits. You gotta decide that for yourself. Whatever you do, though, you fuckin’ know me and the team are gonna have your back.” 

Bitty chewed on his thumbnail and kept pacing. 

“I’m proud of you for one thing, Bits,” Shitty said. 

“Hmm?” 

“I’ve been sitting here with my dick fully out this whole time and you haven’t commented on it, for the first time ever. You’re getting better,” Shitty said with a wide grin. 

“I’m a touch distracted, young man,” Bitty grumbled. 

“I’m like, way older than you,” Shitty pointed out. 

“Shush.” 

Three weeks later Bitty had his plan, and put it into action right before his parents arrived. 

As he heard a car pull up in front of the Haus and doors slam, he hurriedly glanced around his room, making sure every last bit of trans paraphernalia was gone, and then headed downstairs. 

“Mama!” he called as he flung open the front door. 

“Hi!” Suzanne called back, waving and walking up. She pulled Bitty into a hug immediately, and he tried so hard to keep from stiffening when his flat chest was pressed against his mother's. He hoped with everything he had that she didn’t notice the difference. He’d worn a baggy flannel and a chunky sweater to hide his chest visually, but that would only hold up to so much scrutiny. “Oh, it’s been  _ so  _ long, sweetheart.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Bitty said, and he truly was. As tough as it was to have conservative parents as a trans person, it was even harder to hide himself from them. His mother used to be his best friend, and now she didn’t know one of the most fundamental aspects of his identity. 

Suzanne pulled back, beaming, and held onto Bitty’s shoulders. “It’s only been a few months but oh, you look so much more grown up,” she said, and Bitty fought to keep his reaction off his face. Testosterone changes your face shape, and it was entirely possible it had started to. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve been eating healthier,” he lied. Coach came around the other side of the rental car, hanging back, content to let his wife get first hugs. 

Suzanne frowned. “You sound like you’re losing your voice, hon. You been sick?” 

Bitty nodded, relieved his suspicions had been correct. “I just got over a cold or somethin’,” he said. “Never a fever or anything, but drainage and a sore throat an’ all that.” 

Suzanne smiled. “Well, you know how to take care of yourself.” She let go of Bitty and nudged him towards his father. 

“Hi, Coach,” Bitty said with a little smile. His relationship had always been a little more strained with his father; he’d never felt good enough for Coach, even though his bar was set high in athletics instead of academics. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Coach said, hugging him briefly. “You been trainin’ up?” 

“Of course,” Bitty said as he turned and led them to the Haus. “I got cleared for full contact a coupla months after my concussion, an’ I’ve been gettin’ back in shape. Wasn’t on injured reserve at all once preseason started.” 

Coach nodded, pleased. “You benching?” 

“Some,” Bitty answered. “Arm strength’s not as important in hockey. Before the concussion I was benching one-twenty, but after I could work out again I had dropped to ninety. I’m back up to one-oh-five.” 

Coach looked troubled. “You shouldn’t’a dropped  _ that  _ much just from a concussion.” 

“Well,” Bitty said sheepishly. “I maybe took a little too much time off at the beginning of the summer and got out of shape.” 

“Alright, alright,” Suzanne said, waving her hands. “Enough sports chat. Rachel, you gotta show me what you’ve done with the place.” 

Bitty grinned as they went into the Haus. He showed them the downstairs first, and Mama made one too many jokes about these “gross boys” not taking care of their space so their “girl roommate” had to do all the tidying up. The boys weren't around to hear this, all in class or doing their own thing in their own rooms, or Bitty would've had someone to make surreptitious glances at when his parents said some shit. 

When they made it to his bedroom, Suzanne hummed and examined all of his decorating choices, and Bitty was glad for his foresight when she took it upon herself to tidy his bedside table, littered with tissues, cough drop wrappers, and a bottle of Nyquil--”evidence” of the “cold” that changed his voice. 

“Mama, I told you, I can’t chat long,” Bitty said. “I hafta meet with my advisor at four.” 

“Oh, right,” Suzanne said. “Should we stay here?” 

“Um, you can, I guess,” Bitty answered. “The boys can keep you company. Or you can go back to the hotel for a bit.” 

“I saw a tv downstairs,” Coach said. 

“Sure, you can use it. Shitty may watch some football with you if there’s a game on,” Bitty offered. 

“Ah, I’ll find somethin’,” Coach said, and headed downstairs. 

“Uh, Mama, you good to stay here?” Bitty asked reluctantly. The longer his parents were in the Haus the more antsy he was. He had the nagging, probably unnecessary feeling that he had missed something in his sweep of the room. 

“I’m fine, baby, you go meet with your advisor,” Suzanne said warmly. “I’ll sit down with your daddy.” 

On his way out, Bitty ducked his head into Jack's room. 

“My folks are here,” he whispered. 

“Should I come say hi?” Jack asked, barely looking up from whatever he was doing on his laptop. 

“If you want. Listen, I gotta run out an’ meet with Dr. Atley but they're staying here. Can you, uh, keep an ear out for trouble?” Bitty asked uneasily. 

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “Keep the door open?” 

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty said, and headed out the door. 

Bitty all but sprinted across campus to Dr. Atley’s office. He acted antsy enough in his meeting that after the bare bones of the agenda were taken care of, Dr. Atley shooed him out the door, and he all but sprinted back. 

He found his father sitting where he’d left him, half-watching a football recap and reading on his Kindle. His mother wasn’t with him. 

After checking the kitchen, his heart pounding and palms slick, he found her in his room again. Jack had half-turned in his chair so he could see through the door over the top of his laptop, his feet propped up on his dresser, and he gave Bitty a thumbs up and a reassuring smile before getting up to close his bedroom door. 

Suzanne was tidying Bitty's desk, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t come across anything too shocking before he knocked on the door jamb. 

“I’m back,” he said lightly. He came inside and closed the door, dropping his backpack next to his dresser. 

Suzanne didn’t stop, but there was a smile in her voice when she said, “That was fast.” 

“You thought you could clean my whole room before I got back,” Bitty accused. 

Mama laughed. “You caught me.” 

Bitty sat on his bed, not sure why he was ever worried. He’d cleaned up anything that could possibly out him; his pride things, his unmentionables, the most masculine of his clothes, and anything with his name on it were boxed up and shoved into the attic. 

“Oh, honey, what’s this for?” Suzanne asked offhandedly, sliding a short jar to the edge of the desk and tapping the lid without looking up. 

Bitty’s stomach soured instantly. His scar cream. 

“I-I, um,” he stuttered. 

Her interest piqued, Suzanne turned to look at Bitty. “What is it, hon?” 

“Oh, I’ve just got some… acne scars,” Bitty said unconvincingly. Damn, she’d caught him off guard. 

Suzanne frowned. “We don’t really use Mederma on acne scars, just surgery and trauma scars. Have you been using it on acne?” 

“Yeah, I got a big one that I--I hated it, so…” Bitty gestured vaguely. 

Suzanne stepped forward slowly, her posture softening like she was approaching a feral dog, and Lord, Bitty must have looked like one. 

“Honey, you’re not tellin’ me something,” she accused softly. 

Bitty’s eyes pricked with tears. Oh God, he was not ready for this but there was no way out of it. Fuck, he wasn’t prepared to do this this weekend. 

“I…” His words died on his tongue and Mama sat on the bed, just far enough away from him that they weren’t touching. 

“Rachel, sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything,” Suzanne murmured. 

“I… had a surgery,” Bitty said softly, haltingly. 

Suzanne’s eyes widened. “What? When? On what?” She looked so worried, and God, when she found out what it was for, she was going to have mood whiplash for days. 

Bitty reached up and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his shirt, then pulled the sweater and shirt off all at once, trembling like a leaf. 

“The beginning of summer,” he whispered. 

He couldn’t look at his mother. She was silent and completely still. 

Finally, he had to know how she was reacting, and he snuck a glance at her face. She was staring at his chest, his twin scars arcing across his chest. There was a slow realization happening behind her eyes, and Bitty bit his lip hard, a lump rising painfully in his throat. 

“Rachel,” she whispered. “Are you…?” 

“I’m transgender, Mama,” he said. “I’m not a girl.” 

Suzanne shook her head. “I don’t under--you’re not a boy, Rachel, you’re a  _ girl.”  _

Bitty’s fists clenched involuntarily. “I am  _ not.”  _

Suzanne set her jaw. “Rachel, honey, you know I love you, no matter what--” 

“Please don’t say ‘but’,” Bitty said, tears finally starting to fall. 

“No, no,” Suzanne said. “A mother’s love is never conditional. I love you, and we are going to get through this together.” 

Bitty shot to his feet, putting several feet of distance between him and his mother. “‘Get through’? Do you think you can ‘fix’ this? Me?” He pulled his shirt back on frantically. 

“Honey, no,” Suzanne said. “I know you can’t fix these things, but you can’t be  _ sure.  _ You’re nineteen, Rachel, you’re so young, you can’t be sure you won’t regret all of this.” 

“Stop calling me Rachel,” Bitty said through gritted teeth. 

“Honey, it’s your  _ name,”  _ Suzanne said gently. 

“It hasn’t been my name for three years. I’ve been living as a man since I got to Samwell,” Bitty said through his tears. What could he say to make his mother realize? “I’m on hormones, I’ve had top surgery, and my name change is all set to be turned in to the courthouse whenever I want. This isn’t going away, Mama.” 

Suzanne was crying now. “What do you want me to say, sweetheart? That I condone all this?” 

“I don’t want you to ‘condone’ anything,” Bitty spat. “I want you to  _ support _ me. I’m becoming who I’m supposed to be. I couldn’t do it in Georgia.” 

“What’s wrong with Georgia?” Suzanne asked defensively, completely ignoring the rest of his sentence. 

“Good God, Mother,” Bitty said, throwing his hands up. “Your own husband let anti-gay bullying happen so bad in his team a kid landed in the hospital an’ moved to  _ Oregon  _ afterwards.” 

“That boy wasn’t gay,” Suzanne countered. 

“I set him up with Hank from my speech and debate class,” Bitty said. “They’re still together. Mama, rural Georgia is  _ dangerous _ for people like me.” 

Suzanne went quiet, hanging her head, and Bitty deflated ever so slightly. She sniffled and buried her head in her hands. 

“I thought you were just a lesbian all this time,” she muttered after a long pause. 

“Would that have been better,” Bitty asked in a deadpan. 

Suzanne looked up and shook her head. “No. I didn’t know how to deal with that either.” 

Bitty stayed quiet. He wasn’t sure where he and his mother stood and he wasn’t going to test those waters himself. God, this was the worst. 

“Honey, what do I do?” 

Bitty took a steadying breath. “My name is Eric. I am your  _ son.  _ I am not going to grow out of this. I’ve been without breasts for six months now and I haven’t regretted it so far.” 

He took another deep breath before continuing. “What you do with all of this is up to you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ll still be your kid if you want me to be, but if this is gonna be too hard--” 

“Stop. No,” Suzanne interrupted firmly. “You’re my dau--my  _ child  _ no matter what. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

Bitty leaned back heavily against the wall, feeling like he was going to pass out. His chest ached and he saw spots at the edge of his vision like he'd just been hip checked on the ice. He hadn't passed out from anything like that in months, but now here was another thing that could send him to the ground, apparently. 

Suzanne got up and crossed the room. “Come on,” she murmured, taking him by the arm gently and leading him to the bed. “Sit down, and take a breath.” 

Bitty sat heavily on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. He scrunched his eyes closed and breathed as deeply as he could, fighting the tremors that rolled through his body. 

_ What is going on?  _ he  thought frantically, over and over.  _ Am I safe? What is she going to do?  _

“Okay,” Suzanne said softly. “I will always love you. Drill that into your brain first. Second, I’m not gonna be good at this right off the bat.” 

“I know,” he squeaked. 

“You gotta tell me when I mess up.” 

There were footsteps outside the door and it opened without so much as a knock. 

“Suz, I’ve gotta go back to the hotel before d--” Coach started, but when he took in the scene in front of him--Bitty laying back against his pillows, clearly crying, his hands over his eyes, and Suzanne sitting near his feet--he stopped himself. “Every, uh, everything alright?” 

“Just a minute, Rick,” Suzanne said easily. She addressed Bitty. “Honey, you wanna go to dinner with us?” 

Bitty shook his head. “I need a little bit.” 

“Wait downstairs for me, then, ‘kay?” Suzanne said to her husband. 

He walked away, and when they could hear his footsteps on the stairs Bitty sniffled. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna tell your daddy,” Suzanne mused. 

“Mama, please,” Bitty choked out. 

“He’s gonna have to know sometime,” she said. “Can I tell him tonight?” 

Bitty considered. He didn’t like the idea of his mother telling this story when she clearly didn’t understand it herself, but the thought of coming out to his father himself was truly terrifying. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. 

His chest was still tight, and he leaned forward instead, bracing his hands in front of him on the bedspread. “I’m so scared, Mama,” he whimpered. 

“Of what?” Suzanne asked, sounding shocked. 

“What Daddy will say,” Bitty whispered. “You may not kick me out but Coach--I can’t, Mama, he--he doesn’t like gay people, how’s he gonna feel about me?” 

Suzanne reached out and rubbed Bitty’s knee soothingly. “I don’t know how he’ll react, sweetheart, but you’re not getting kicked out on my watch. You hear me?” 

Bitty surged forward and locked his arms around his mother, clinging to her like he was five years old again and the scary part of  _ The Wizard of Oz _ was on. She hugged back tightly. 

“Can I say anything to help you right now?” 

Bitty drew back. “You could call me my name,” he muttered. 

“What is your name? Not Rachel?” 

“Eric,” Bitty said. “... Eric Richard Bittle.” 

“Richard, huh?” Suzanne repeated with a little smile. “Eric Richard Bittle. You know, if you’d’a been a boy we were going to name you Eric.” 

“I know,” Bitty said, ignoring the ‘if you’d’a been a boy’ part. “I found your list of baby names in the baby scrapbook. I wanted to pick something you’d like.” 

Suzanne smiled warmly and hugged him again. “You take a little while, an’ you text me when you decide if you want me to tell your daddy. I won’t until you say so.” 

Bitty sniffled when she pulled back, and she handed him the box of tissues from the bedside table. 

“I love you, Eric,” Suzanne said firmly, boring her gaze right into his soul. “Nothin’ you do with your body’s gonna change that.” 

“I love you too, Mama,” Bitty whispered. 

“Good night, honey.” 

“Night, Mama.” 

Once he heard the front door close behind them he got out of bed, his feet carrying him the only place he could think to go. 

As he knocked on Jack’s door he heard a, “come in!” He went inside and found Jack at his desk, still puzzling over something on his laptop. He looked up, saw Bitty, and turned his whole body to face him. 

“What’s up, Bittle?” 

Bitty just trudged, exhausted and not wanting to be completely alone, to sit on the floor with his back against the side of Jack’s bed. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face behind them. 

“My mom found out.” 

Jack made a sympathetic noise. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know.” 

There was a sound of desk chair wheels on wood flooring and when next Jack spoke he was right in front of Bitty. “Anything I can do?” 

“Just… I don’t want to be alone for a while,” Bitty said, his eyes welling up again. 

“Okay,” Jack said. 

Just before Jack’s chair scooted away again, so briefly he could have imagined it, he felt a hand press gently against his hair, a thumb sweep across the crown of his head, and then it was gone. A moment later something was placed next to him. 

“Tissues next to you if you need them.” 

Bitty stayed there for what felt like hours. He glanced up a couple of times, thinking that Jack had been so quiet he had left unnoticed, but he was always there, reading on his laptop and chewing at his lip absentmindedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "projecting? who's projecting? the fuck are you talking about?"


	14. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: references to rough comings-out, mention of drug use (marijuana), mentions of genitalia, references to queer youth being disowned and/or kicked out, references to fatphobia, discussions of homo- and transphobia in the South, and discussions of hypothetical sexual situations 
> 
> also spoilers for "Love Actually" but if you havent seen it yet what are you even doing, come on. every major british actor active in 2003 plus laura linney and LIAM NEESON in a DAD SWEATER and being SOFT and SAD. its on netflix. come on.

There was radio silence from Bitty’s parents the morning after he came out to his mother. 

He had texted her after taking a couple of hours to get himself together, sending a couple of links for her to read and  _ then  _ she could tell Coach. 

_ “Thank you, baby. This helps,”  _ she responded half an hour later. 

Much, much later that night, there was one more text. Bitty didn't anticipate sleeping much, so he was still wide awake when Suzanne's text rolled in at one in the morning. 

_ “Everything's fine here. We love you. Get some sleep.”  _

At this he had to get out of bed again. He couldn't sit still, not alone. 

He found Shitty still awake, completely stoned and slowly eating nachos while watching  _ Love Actually. _

“Hey, brah,” he greeted Bitty without pausing the movie. 

Bitty just stood in his door, fingers worrying the hem of his shirt. “Can I … sit with you a bit?” 

“Fuck, Bits, I was just thinking--this movie makes me wanna cuddle up with someone, and here I am watching it all alone, but then I'd have to go find someone to watch with, and that means putting down my nachos,” Shitty drawled. “Yeah, bud, come on up, I needta snuggle.” 

“Are you naked?” Bitty couldn't help asking. Emotionally compromised or not, he wasn't snuggling up to Shitty in the buff. 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh… I can  _ not  _ be.” 

“Please.” 

A minute later Bitty was climbing the ladder of Shitty's loft bed and was relieved to see him wearing pajama pants. Shitty had paused the movie, and he gestured Bitty over. 

“Can I put my arm around you?” Shitty asked, and Bitty would be eternally grateful for this and every other time Shitty actually lived by his “consent for all physical touches” rule. He nodded, and Shitty pulled him into his side and offered his plate of nachos. 

“You doin’ alright?” Shitty asked. 

“My mom found out today,” Bitty said. 

“I heard. How?” 

“Left my scar cream out like a dumbass.” 

“Nah, you're not a dumbass. How'd it go?” 

Bitty winced. “She doesn't get it but I'm not kicked out. I sent her some reading material an’ said after she reads it all she can tell my dad, an’... well, that part's over too.” 

“Uh huh?” Shitty encouraged. 

“Just got this,” Bitty said, and showed Shitty the text. 

_ “Everything's fine here. We love you. Get some sleep.”  _

Shitty patted his arm. “Well, there you go, Bits. They know, and it sounds like it went alright. Scary part's over.” 

“I guess.” 

“You wanna talk more? You look like you're still processing.” 

Bitty shook his head. “Let's just watch the movie.” 

“Okey doke.” 

Shitty kept up a continuous, quiet stream of commentary on the movie, how beautiful and soft Liam Neeson was in this role, how no one in their right mind could cheat on Emma Thompson, how the prime minister's secretary was  _ not  _ fat whatsoever and it was horrible that they kept making fat jokes about her, I mean, fat jokes in general are fucking awful but here it's not even  _ accurate.  _ Eventually Bitty fell asleep, tucked into Shitty's side and exhausted. 

In the morning he woke alone in Shitty’s bed with a blanket over him, his phone plugged in next to his head. He looked down and saw Shitty stretched out on a pallet on the floor, snoring loudly. 

As he went through his morning routine, everything felt different. He grabbed the wrong mug out of the cupboard and didn't put any coffee grounds in the coffee maker the first time around, and when he finally had a cup of real coffee in his hands he started to drink it black, completely sans the three or four packets-worth of sugar and plenty of creamer he usually put in. Eventually he scrapped the coffee idea completely and climbed the stairs. 

“My brain doesn't like cooking this morning, apparently, you wanna go to the commons?” he asked Jack, who had evidently already gone for his run and showered. 

Jack looked amused. “‘Doesn't like cooking’?” he repeated. 

Bitty gave him a rundown of the difficulties he'd had with coffee, and Jack fought to not laugh. 

“Alright, alright. Commons,” he said, gesturing to the door. 

On the short walk Bitty apparently checked his phone one too many times, because Jack nudged him. “You good, Bittle?” 

Bitty sighed and tucked his phone away again. “Parents,” he said vaguely. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” 

Jack shrugged. “Fair. You catch any recaps of the Pens game last night?” 

Somehow, between waking up and heading to Faber that afternoon, Bitty found himself never alone except in the bathroom. He and Jack were joined at breakfast by Ransom and Holster, who invited him to join them antiquing as they continued their search for “the most curséd objects Samwell, Massachusetts has to offer”. After that Lardo came over to the Haus, ostensibly to hang out with Shitty, but they hung in the kitchen while Bitty, whose brain had recovered some, made cinnamon chip bread. Then about half the team filtered in and out for a while, stealing bread and doing their various pregame rituals. 

Finally, Bitty walked with everyone to Faber, the lot of them making their way down campus in clumps of four or five, with Lardo bringing up the rear so no one got distracted and trailed behind. 

Still nothing from either of his parents. He didn't even know if they would come to the game. 

As they neared Faber, a handful of people scattered in front of the complex joined them. Among them were Ollie and Wicky, and a woman Bitty assumed was Lardo's mom. 

Hanging behind, apart from everyone else, Bitty saw his parents. 

Suzanne smiled cautiously when Bitty met her eyes, but Coach looked at the ground, puzzled, his hands folded in front of him with a program tucked under his arm. 

Holster nudged Bitty and nodded reassuringly, and Ransom gave a thumbs up. 

“We'll be nearby,” Ransom muttered. 

Bitty steeled himself and joined his parents. 

Suzanne's smile widened and she hugged him tight. “How you doin’ baby?” 

“Fine,” Bitty answered, not ready to spill the beans about his emotional rollercoaster quite yet. 

Coach shifted his weight and unclasped his hands. Bitty watched warily, not entirely convinced his father would--or could--be civil about this, but the unthinkable happened. 

Coach stepped up to Bitty and hugged him. 

It was an awkward side-hug, not at all the same hug as yesterday, but a hug nonetheless, and he couldn't for the life of him think up any scenarios that made a hug like this malicious. 

“Hi Daddy,” Bitty squeaked out. 

“Hi,” Coach replied, starting to use Bitty’s birth name and stopping himself. “I, uh. You're always welcome home. Nothin’ changes that.” 

Bitty felt a lump rise in his throat. “Thank you, Daddy,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Either of you.” 

Coach nodded curtly, then scratched awkwardly at his cheek. “I get it. I've been, uh, readin’ up on… Georgia, an' all this.” He gestured vaguely to his Kindle. 

“We're gonna be better, Eric,” Suzanne promised. 

Bitty swallowed hard and swiped at his eyes. “God, Ma, you're gonna make me cry,” he muttered. 

Suzanne wiped her own eyes. “Okay, okay, that's enough. You got a game to win.” 

Bitty laughed. Like he was going to be useful on the ice right now. “Right.” 

“Go on,” Suzanne said, shooing him. “Dinner after?” 

“Yes please. You pick.” 

“Okay, baby, good luck,” Suzanne called as Bitty walked away. 

Ransom and Holster were waiting at the corner of the building, and they fell in step as Bitty approached. 

“That looked like it went well,” Ransom said brightly. 

“Yeah,” Bitty said, baffled. “I guess it did.” 

“Well, congrats, Bits,” Holster said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You're out to your folks and the world didn't end.” 

“What are you going to do now?” Ransom asked, holding out an imaginary microphone. 

“I'm going to Disney World,” Bitty said. “Uh, after I win a hockey game.” 

Shitty had also waited for them, just outside the athlete entrance, and he grinned wide when he heard the conversation as the trio approached. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

Bitty nudged Ransom. “I slept with Shitty last night.” 

Holster made a strangled noise. “Really?” 

Shitty laughed. “Sure as fuck did.” 

“Is he good in bed?” Ransom asked Bitty. 

“Well, not a single sex act happened, so depending on your definition of ‘good in bed,’ maybe.” 

“You dirty tease,” Holster exclaimed. “Tempting us with the goss!” 

Shitty grinned. “Nah, boys, I remain untouched carnally by any member of the team. But I'm open to negotiations,” he said with a wink before flouncing into the locker room. 

“Did… did we just get invited into a threesome with Shitty?” Ransom asked Holster. 

“Uh. Maybe?” 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Invited, no,” he said. “Hinted at, yes.” 

Holster looked down, a mix of emotions playing over his face. “I don't know how I feel about this.” 

Ransom shrugged. “I think I'm good for now.” 

“For now?” Holster repeated. 

“For now.” 


	15. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: internalized transphobia, self-directed misgendering, uhh something something getting kissed by someone who is presumably not into you but you're into them (no clue how to sum that up better sorry), mild ableist language

Jack was straight. Jack was into girls. Jack was not into boys. Jack was  _ straight.  _

Therefore, because Jack was kissing Bitty at this very moment, it meant he thought of Bitty as a woman. 

This should have made Bitty pull back, tell Jack this was very nice but no thank you, and go back into his own room to finish packing. He should know better than to fall for a straight boy and especially don’t kiss him. 

And yet… 

Bitty leaned into Jack, his fingers finding the folds of his graduation robes and holding tight, relishing the feeling of Jack’s warm, dry hand cradling the side of his face and the other wrapping around to his back to press him closer, closer. 

If Jack wasn’t into boys, he either thought of Bitty as a woman or he was just really, really good at kissing boys without being attracted to them. 

Jack pulled back slowly, and Bitty kept his eyes closed, knowing he needed to steel himself for the inevitable “I shouldn’t have done that” but wanting to live in this moment for just a little longer. 

And then Jack kissed him again, and any and all rational thought vacated Bitty’s mind and it was just pressure of lips and hands, noses bumping, a small, barely audible sound that couldn’t have been a whimper coming from Jack’s throat. 

A buzz interrupted Bitty’s concentration and he ignored it, lifting up on his tiptoes a little to get closer somehow to Jack. Another buzz, and another. 

Jack broke the kiss just far enough to curse under his breath and Bitty opened his eyes. Jack was looking at him with hooded eyes, his lips swollen and pupils blown wide. Another buzz interrupted Bitty’s thought that this was the most beautiful he had ever seen Jack. 

“My phone,” Jack muttered. “It’s--” 

He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. His expression clouded over. 

“I’m sorry, I--I have to go,” Jack said, looking conflicted. 

“Oh,” was all Bitty could manage. 

“I have to go,” Jack said apologetically. “I’ll text you.” 

“Okay,” Bitty said quietly. 

The rational part of his brain hadn’t come back yet, so when the worry that Jack had somehow caused his phone to vibrate to get out of the kiss popped up, it took over Bitty’s mind unchecked. 

Jack trailed his hands from Bitty’s elbows down to take his hands and squeezed as Jack took him in. 

He leaned down for one more kiss, and Bitty managed to keep his fingers from clutching at Jack’s robes again to keep him here. 

Far, far too soon, Jack pulled back, already taking a step backwards towards the door even as he said, “I’ll text you.” 

“Okay,” Bitty said meekly, and Jack was gone. 

Bitty stared after him, his mind slowly coming together again piece by piece, and he sat stiffly in Chowder’s desk chair. 

Almost immediately, his phone vibrated, and he started to marvel at how quickly Jack could text now when he saw that the message was from Shitty. 

_ “I forgot my phone charger at the Haus so I am ON MY WAY BACK AND I REQUIRE ONE MORE HUG MY SWEET SWEET BOY”  _

Bitty clicked the lock button to darken his screen and caught a glimpse of himself. He looked like a man haunted, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth just slightly agape, breathing far too hard. 

What in the  _ hell  _ had just happened?

 

* * *

 

Jack texted, as promised, twenty minutes later. Shitty had come and gone, tactfully ignoring Bitty’s weird, spaced-out mood, and Bitty was settled aboard the airport shuttle before he opened the text. 

_ “I’m sorry I just sprang that on you without asking.”  _

Bitty stared at the message for a long time. 

_ “I didn’t hate it,”  _ he finally  responded.  _ “At all. Don’t worry.”  _

But how to broach the conversation that you maybe shouldn’t kiss gay boys if you’re not attracted to them? 

_ “That’s a relief. I’d wanted to for a long time.”  _

_ But now that I’ve done it I never want to ever again,  _ the text didn’t say. It didn’t have to.

_ “Me too,”  _ Bitty texted back. Maybe Jack would feel bad and learn not to mess with people’s hearts. 

Jack didn’t text back for nearly ten minutes, and Bitty spent every agonizing second of it staring at his phone and overthinking. 

_ “Are you okay? You’re usually more forthcoming,”  _ Jack responded finally. 

Bitty blinked. He hadn’t even realized he was being curt. 

Well, he asked. 

_ “Why did you kiss me?”  _ Bitty asked. 

Jack’s answer was immediate. 

_ “Should I not have? I’m so sorry. Please just forget it.”  _

Bitty made an annoyed face at his phone. 

_ “No, just… I’m a guy, Jack.”  _

Jack took a little longer to respond. 

_ “Yes, I know. Are you straight, then?”  _

The shuttle pulled up to the airport and Bitty got off, so wrapped up in his thoughts he nearly forgot to tip the driver. In line for the baggage drop-off he pulled his phone back out. 

_ “No. You are, though.”  _

Immediately his phone buzzed, and Jack’s name popped up on the screen. Bitty cursed and dragged his suitcase and duffel out of line and to a semi-secluded spot nearby so he could answer the call. 

“Jack?” he asked as he accepted the call. 

_ “Bittle, I--ah, are you at the airport?”  _

“Yes, Jack,” Bitty said, a little bit of impatience leaking into his voice. Honestly, the sooner Jack actually broke his heart, the better. He could get over Jack like a clean break now that he wasn’t living in the same Haus, and he had a whole summer ahead of him to forget this nonsense. “I’m not busy right now. What is it?” 

_ “I’m sorry, I don’t…”  _

“Please stop apologizing,” Bitty said. “I’m not mad. You don’t have anythin’ to apologize for.” 

_ “You’re right, I’m s--ugh.”  _

Bitty pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Jack, I know you’re straight, which tells me you think I’m a woman. You can’t just--you can’t just kiss people you know are into your gender like it won’t mean anythin’,” he said in a rush. “It’s not fair.” 

_ “Bittle, I’m not straight.”  _

These words his Bitty like a freight train, but it took him a long second to fully, completely process them. 

“You’re not?” 

_ “No, I’m… I’m bisexual.”  _

Bitty blinked slowly, his entire perception of the last hour shifting. 

_ “I know you’re not a woman. I’ve never, ever thought of you as anything but a man. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss  _ _ you _ _.”  _

“Okay,” Bitty said dumbly, before his words returned. “Uh, I. Shit, Jack. Oh Lord, I’m an idiot.” 

Jack was into him. Into  _ him.  _ Even knowing he was trans. 

All this time Bitty had been agonizing over a crush, but he could have just… kissed Jack himself, and they wouldn’t be in this situation now. 

Not that he disliked this situation, embarrassment aside. 

Jack laughed.  _ “You’re not an idiot. You’ve had bad experiences in the past.”  _

Bitty huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.” He sat on his suitcase and groaned. “Oh, I am so relieved, Jack. You have no idea.” 

_ “I have some idea,”  _ Jack said, almost-restrained glee in his voice. 

“I’ve had a crush on you for like… a year?” Bitty said. “God, that’s embarrassing.” 

_ “Are we okay?”  _ Jack asked, suddenly sounding a little worried. 

“Yes,” Bitty said sincerely. “Completely. More than okay.” 

Jack sounded relieved.  _ “Thank God. Okay, go do airport things.”  _

Bitty groaned and leaned forward until he was on his feet again. “Do I hafta go to Georgia?” he whined. “Can’t I, like, go to Providence with you?” 

Jack chuckled.  _ “I wish. I’ll get you up to visit sometime this summer. But we can talk about that later. Go catch your flight, Bits, I’m serious.”  _

Bits. Jack never called him that. 

“Bossy,” Bitty mumbled. “Fine, fine. I’m going.” 

_ “Keep me posted about your flight,”  _ Jack said. 

“I will,” Bitty said, his heart fluttering. Jack  _ cared  _ about him. Not just as a friend. 

_ “Bon voyage,”  _ Jack said, and hung up. 

_ I love you,  _ Bitty didn’t say. Instead he resolutely tucked his phone into his pocket and steered his luggage to the back of the line. 

He floated through security, unable to keep a smile off his face. 

“Having a good day?” the TSA agent scanning his boarding pass asked. 

“A guy I was crushin’ on kissed me a little bit ago,” Bitty revealed. 

The agent chuckled. “Very nice. Good luck.” 

Bitty was still walking on air when he got to Georgia later that evening, and as soon as he was allowed to he turned his phone on and texted Jack. 

_ “Just landed in Atlanta! Still thinking about that kiss.”  _

A few minutes later Jack texted back, just as Bitty was finally able to get out of his plane seat and head down the aisle. 

_ “Me too. Shame we couldn’t squeeze in any more.”  _

Bitty very nearly had a heart attack right there, not a hundred yards from his parents waiting at the arrivals gate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im anticipating abooooouuuut two more chapters unless something hits me over the head   
> thank yall so much for reading and leaving such great comments! i read all of them and they make me want to get my life together and finish writing this damn fic even though my all brain wants to do is watch jeopardy and eat cheetos


	16. Providence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter: anxiety, mentions of sexual situations

As soon as Bitty set foot in Jack's Providence apartment for the first time, his host closed the door, eyed Bitty with a smoldering gaze, and caught his hand. 

“It's been a while,” Jack said with a crooked grin, pulling Bitty closer until there was just a sliver of air between them. 

“Yeah,” Bitty said dumbly, too overcome with nerves and excitement of  _ oh Lord I'm alone with a boy in his apartment he shares with no one  _ to contribute much to the conversation. 

Jack skimmed his thumb down Bitty’s jaw from ear to chin, and Bitty's heart skipped a beat. Jack leaned down and kissed Bitty softly, and a moment too slowly Bitty’s hands came up to rest on Jack's chest. 

Jack pulled back, his eyes betraying concern. “You okay?” 

Bitty blinked. “Yes!” he said too quickly. He sighed and gathered himself. “Sorry, I'm just… tired from the trip. Promise.” 

Jack smiled reassuringly. “That's understandable. Let me give you a tour of the place and then you can nap if you want. I think you like what I've done with the place.” 

Bitty smiled back, relieved that he wasn’t making a big deal of it. Jack didn't need to know about his jitters about the  _ implications  _ of staying at your boyfriend's place which had only one bedroom. 

Jack led Bitty by the hand further into the room. It was decorated with a stylish tilt, but every piece looked both functional and comfortable. “The living room you've seen on Skype,” he said. He turned, pointing out features. “Pool table. Bluetooth speakers. TV has all the hockey channels available in this region and then some. Plus the Food Network,” he said, winking at Bitty. 

Bitty grinned. Jack didn't care about the Food Network. That was all for him. He put on a thoughtful expression to hide how touched he really was. “Couch looks adequate for pillow forts,” he mused. 

“You know, I bought it and the throw pillows with that in mind, but I haven't gotten the opportunity yet,” Jack lied smoothly. 

He pulled Bitty farther into the apartment, to a nook outside the kitchen, which Bitty could catch tantalizing glimpses of through an archway. 

“Little dining area,” Jack said. There was a table for six, done in sleek dark wood. Jack pointed to what looked like a long, low cabinet along the wall. “That sideboard has all the booze, plus the baking overflow.”

“Baking overflow?” Bitty asked, his ears perking up. 

“You'll see,” Jack said wryly, and led him into the kitchen. 

The kitchen was decently sized, a little smaller than the Haus's, but Bitty gasped when he got a closer look. Jack had to have redone the kitchen himself, because the granite countertops were brand new, not a scratch on them, and the gas stove gleamed like nothing had ever been cooked on it. A stand mixer--Kitchenaid, 5 quart tilt-head, in a beachy blue color--sat on the otherwise useless corner cabinet. 

Jack went around to the cabinets and drawers, opening each briefly to say what was in them, and Bitty committed as much as he could to memory. He was certain he'd do horrible, horrible baking crimes in this kitchen. 

“Plates and bowls. Glasses, wine glasses up there. Silverware. Junk drawer. Cheap stuff that won't break at parties.” He pulled a handle and a whole column of narrow cabinet doors came with it, revealing a hidden pantry on a slider between the sink and the fridge. “Staple foods in here, except baking goods. Cookie sheets down on the bottom. Pots and pans for cooking, down there.” 

He grinned over his shoulder at Bitty and walked to a spot where the countertop was completely bare, with cabinets above and below. He opened the cabinet above. “All your dry goods,” he said, and Bitty saw massive apothecary jars, labeled with different kinds of flour and sugar, stacks of bags of chocolate and butterscotch and white chocolate and cinnamon chips and nuts, jars and cans of fruit preserves, several cans of baking powder and boxes of baking soda. Bottles of flavor extracts and jars of spices and yeasts. 

Bitty gasped. 

“There’s more,” Jack said. 

“How on God's green earth can there be  _ more?”  _ Bitty asked, drawing closer. 

“Because down here,” Jack said, opening the cabinet below and stooping in front of it, “All your hardware.” 

Bitty actually started to tear up. 

In the cabinet, arranged much neater than his at home, were all the baking pans Bitty used and had ever mentioned wanting: a stack of about ten pie plates, which made him laugh, one of those cake pans with the adjustable dividers, cupcake tins with drop bottoms, springform pans, square and round cake pans of all sizes, tart and quiche pans, mini pie tins, loaf pans, Bundt pans… 

There were mixing bowls, too, nested together to save space more than he’d ever need at once. A huge ceramic jar held whisks and spoons and everything else. Several different rolling pins. A stack of parchment paper rolls and rolled up silpats. Measuring cups and spoons. Piping bags and a big jar of ceramic pie weights. A small plastic bin that held the other stand mixer attachments, plus what looked like a pasta roller. 

“Jack,” Bitty breathed. 

“I, ah, went a little crazy at William's Sonoma,” Jack said sheepishly. “My signing bonus was… way bigger than I remembered in my contract.” 

“Jack,” Bitty repeated, his eyes welling up. “I can’t--this is--”

“Hey! Hey, hey,” Jack soothed, pulling Bitty into his arms. “It’s nothing, really.” 

“S’not nothing,” Bitty sniffed into Jack’s shirt. 

“Would it help if I told you I bought all those things for purely selfish reasons, so you’d bake for me more?” Jack asked. 

“Yes, please just keep saying that and I’ll be okay,” Bitty said. 

Jack held him for a minute, letting him gather himself, and then Bitty stepped back and wiped his eyes. 

He cleared his throat. “What was in the overflow baking thing?” 

Jack grinned. “Various novelty pans and cookie cutters, that kind of thing. Onwards?” 

Bitty nodded, and Jack continued on down the hall. “Bathroom,” he said, reaching in to flick on the light. Bitty hummed, and Jack snapped the light off and walked on. “And the bedroom,” he said. 

The bedroom was simply, but stylishly furnished. There were huge windows along the entire far wall overlooking the river, and a big, comfy-looking armchair with a matching ottoman sat in the corner. Opposite the bed there was a flat screen TV next to a set of double doors, probably Jack’s closet. 

Bitty remembered why he had been nervous when he walked in, and a moment later realized they were standing in Jack’s bedroom. Jack’s  _ only  _ bedroom. Where Bitty would be sleeping tonight, presumably with Jack. His boyfriend. And Bitty was essentially a virgin. Sure, they’d fooled around a little when Jack was in Madison for the 4th, but that was different. That was stolen moments in Bitty’s truck or late at night in Bitty’s room right next to his parents’ room. This was so, so different. 

_ Virginity is a social construct,  _ he heard Shitty’s voice remind him in his head. 

Right. Virginity is a social construct. Nothing wrong with being inexperienced, and Jack wouldn’t do anything Bitty was uncomfortable with or not ready for. 

Jack squeezed Bitty’s hand and Bitty looked at him. He looked concerned. “You good, Bits?” 

Bitty shook his head to clear it. “Yes! Was I spacing?” 

Jack smiled softly. “You were.” He reeled Bitty in for a kiss and then pulled back. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

Oh no. “What?” Bitty asked, uncertain. God, it better not be some BDSM thing. Or any kind of sex thing. 

“You’ll see,” Jack said, letting Bitty go and walking to the closet. “I was out running errands the other day and thought you might like this,” he called over his shoulder, a little too loud for the size of the room. 

He threw open the door and someone leapt out. Bitty jumped, his hand flying to his chest in surprise. 

“Yooooooooo!” Shitty hollered, striking a dramatic superhero pose. 

Bitty’s heart was pounding but a huge grin spread across his face anyway. “Shits!” he cried. “Holy God, you ‘bout gave me a heart attack!” 

“My  _ boy!”  _ Shitty cried, rushing him to hug him hard. 

“Fuck, Shits, you smell like weed,” Bitty laughed. 

“You missed my stank,” Shitty said. “You know you did.” 

Bitty laughed. Over Shitty’s shoulder he saw Jack grinning. 

“You clutched your pearls, Bittle,” Jack said. 

“You would too if someone jumped outta  _ my  _ closet without warning,” Bitty shot back. 

Shitty pulled back. “Now, Bits, I’m not staying forever. Jack wouldn’t let me.” 

“Good,” Bitty said with a little wink. Jack turned red. 

“I’m just here tonight, an’ then I gotta get my ass back to Cambridge,” Shitty said. “Orientation an’ all that bullshit.” 

This was better. One night being in the apartment with a buffer to get used to it, then alone with Jack for three nights before Bitty had to go on to Samwell. Not that Bitty was scared of Jack--on the contrary. He was just… a wimp in general. 

“That’s rough,” Bitty said unconvincingly. “Having to show up early to  _ Harvard Law.”  _

“You have no idea, Bits,” Jack said. “He has to wear a  _ suit jacket  _ to class. He’s got it hard.” 

“Oh your life is so tough!” Bitty moaned. “You poor thing!” 

“I know!” Shitty said. He made puppy eyes. “Maybe I’ll survive it if I get some mini pies from Georgia’s best baker.” 

“Well I don’t know what Stevie Tucker’s gonna do for you, last I heard she’s retired from the competition circuit, but--ohhhh!” Bitty joked. “Oh, alright, yeah, I can do some baking.” 

“Break in the mixer?” Jack asked. 

“You hadn’t used it yet?” Shitty asked him. 

Jack shrugged. “What would  _ I _ use it for?” 

“Alright, everyone to the kitchen,” Bitty commanded. “I’m gonna need assistants.” 

As he herded his boys to Jack’s kitchen, he breathed a little sigh of relief. One night to get his head on straight. 

It would be good. He just had to chill out. 


	17. #Kup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: significant alcohol use and abuse in a non-substance abuse way, mentions of homophobic and transphobic language, mention of transphobic violence

The aftermath of the Cup was intense enough at first. 

Immediately after the kiss Jack and Bitty were swarmed by the rest of the Samwell boys (and Lardo) who whispered worriedly that they were pretty sure reporters had gotten it on camera. 

“Good,” Jack said, gazing lovingly at Bitty. 

Bitty himself was practically vibrating, the cold from the ice under their feet and the high energy and anxiety of the win and what he’d just done making him shiver. He beamed at Jack, his brain fighting hard to keep from panicking, and he laughed. 

“What are they going to do? Kick you off the team?” he asked Jack with a wink. 

“As-fucking-if,” Shitty hollered, espresso and beer combining to make him much, much louder than he thought he was being. “Six-year-old expansion team? They’re not gonna boot the kid who clinched their first ever Cup win, nuh-uh.” 

Jack grinned. “Thanks, Shits.” 

“Jack!” a deep voice called. They turned to see Bob and Alicia making their way over, and Bob grabbed Jack up in a bear hug. 

They took off chattering in French, way too fast for Bitty to keep up, and Bitty was swept up in a big hug by Shitty. 

“Ahh, fuck, Bits, I’m so proud of you,” Shitty half-yelled. 

“I didn’t do anything, Shits, you should be saying that to Jack,” Bitty hollered back. 

“Nah, nah,” Shitty said, squeezing him tighter. “You did a brave thing. Like, he’s man of the hour--day--week--fuckin’  _ year,  _ but  _ you  _ kissed him in front of all those cameras.” 

Bitty felt his stomach twist automatically as that part hit him again. Shit, yeah, he had. 

“Whatever, get off me,” he said with a feigned laugh, hoping Shitty was too tipsy to realize it didn’t ring true. 

“Eric!” Georgia called, squeezing her way through the crowd. Her face was unreadable, but whatever it was it wasn’t good. “I need you and Jack in the office.” 

Bitty paled. “Oh, uh, okay,” he said meekly. He reached out and wrapped a hand around Jack’s arm. “Jack?” 

Once they were off the ice Georgia hauled them to the corridor leading to her office. “Wait here,” she said. 

“I was going to change out--” 

“Keith is bringing your things,” she interrupted. She rubbed her forehead. “Just, skates off for now.” 

“George?” Jack asked worriedly. 

“There’s reporters swarming the lockers, Jack,” George explained. “You’re gonna have to lay low for a bit.” 

“Oh,” Jack said, reaching the realization Bitty had a moment before. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s--” George took a deep breath and blew it out. “It’s fine, Jack, really. I get why it happened and I’m not, personally, mad. I just wish we could’ve prepared for this somehow.” 

They received a short lecture by George and Coach Buchner, and then were released to “go have fun at the party.” Jack changed out of his uniform in the admin bathrooms and they left, aware that they had caused a huge uproar. 

Then they arrived home, and all was forgotten for a few hours as both the Falconers and the Wellies celebrated their win. Jack got  _ extraordinarily  _ sloshed and Bitty laughed at his drunken slow dance with Holster on the pool table. Somewhere around dawn Bitty crashed in the pillow fort in the living room, and when he woke around noon he found himself cuddling with Lardo, Jack nowhere to be found. 

When he finally located his phone, he ignored the numerous missed calls and texts from his parents (oof,  _ that  _ would be a conversation… but one for later) and missed texts from the group chat, and finally found a text from Jack. 

_ “Out to the presser. You looked dead asleep so I figured I’d leave you there. Back at noonish.”  _

Bitty cursed and looked around. Now he saw that there were no other Falconers present, and only Samwell people (and a couple of Falconer WAGs) were left. As he looked around, a lump of blankets in the corner stirred and Ransom rose up on his knees, squinting around the room. 

“Morning,” he slurred when he saw Bitty. “Did the Falcs win?” 

“Yeah, bud,” Bitty said. 

“Swawesome,” Rans mumbled, and slumped back down. He groaned. “Ohh, my existence hurts.” 

“Makes sense,” Bitty said, going to the kitchen. He ignored the destruction within--he’d lived through enough kegsters to be able to turn off his concern where kitchens were involved--and located a bottle of Gatorade for Ransom. 

“Here, darlin’,” he murmured, handing him the bright yellow bottle. “Drink up.” 

“You’re the fuckin’ best, Bits,” Rans mumbled. “Don’t tell Holtzy I said that.” 

“Tell me what?” Holster asked, coming into the living room from the bedroom. He looked… awake, surprisingly. 

“How I’m ‘the fuckin’ best,’” Bitty said. 

“You traitor, I take it back.” 

“I’m hurt, Justin,” Holster said, putting a hand to his chest. 

Bitty shushed them both, pointing to the Wellies still in the blanket fort. 

Holster dropped his voice to a murmur and came closer. “Jack’s presser went well.” 

Bitty breathed a sigh of relief. “Did you watch it?” 

Holster nodded. “TV in the bedroom. He gave a statement, and the media just… let it go, weirdly.” 

Bitty braced a hand on the pool table. “I’m so relieved, you have no idea.” 

“You done good, Bits,” Holster said. 

“Oh yeah, you kissed Jack,” Ransom slurred, his head now completely covered by his blankets again. “That was pretty cool, bud.” 

“Sure was,” Holster said placatingly. 

“‘M goin’ back to sleep,” Ransom mumbled. 

“Drink some Gatorade first,” Bitty said. 

“Not my dad,” Ransom retorted, but a moment later they heard a bottle cap being twisted open. 

Holster shook his head at Ransom, then nodded towards the blanket fort. “Wanna begin rousing the troops?” 

“You do that, I’ll start brunch,” Bitty replied. “Well, I’ll start putting my kitchen back together, and  _ then  _ I’ll start brunch.” 

“‘Your’ kitchen?” Holster repeated, amused. 

“Yes, you’re very perceptive. There’s Gatorade in the fridge. Make sure Chowder tests his glucose first.” 

As Bitty put the last of the dirty cups in the dishwasher he heard the apartment door open. He went out into the living room and found Jack carefully putting his bag on the pool table, carefully eyeing the lump of blankets at the other end. 

“Not a person,” Bitty said. 

Jack smiled at him. He looked exhausted. “Hey,” he said, and reached for Bitty. 

“Holster tells me it went well,” Bitty said as Jack pulled him in for a tight hug. 

Jack shrugged and kissed him. “Reasonably so.” 

“Jack,” Shitty called, standing up on unsteady feet on the other side of the couch. “C’mere an’ gimme a big ol’ kiss.” 

“Are you still drunk?” Bitty asked at the same time as Jack said, “I’m not just giving out kisses to anyone now.” 

“Might be a lil drunk, maybe, yeah,” Shitty said as he wavered. 

“Oh, bud,” Bitty said, shaking his head. 

“Don’t patronize me, Bittle.” 

The reaction to the kiss after the Cup wore off in a matter of days. Three days after, though, things took a turn for the worrying. 

People had been stopping Jack and Bitty on the sidewalk around Providence, thanking them for coming out or congratulating them. A couple of times there were some… less than savory things said, but each time that bullshit was called out by some other bystander immediately. The parade was amazing, and Bitty watched from the safety of a window above, not entirely ready to wade through all of that immediately. 

And then the morning of the third day they woke up to Georgia calling in a panic.

_ “Don’t check the news,” _ she said. 

“Uh, what?” Jack said, not entirely awake. Bitty hauled himself to a sitting position as Jack hit the speaker button. 

_ “Don’t check the news. Well, the sports sections of any news outlets, the regular stuff might be fine.”  _

“George, what is it?” 

Georgia paused.  _ “It seems one of Eric’s high school classmates leaked to the press that he ‘used to be a girl’.”  _

Bitty groaned. “Fucking…” 

“Oh no.” 

_ “The coverage isn’t all negative but the majority has… some transphobic language, to be sure. And doubts about you really being gay, Jack.”  _

“What… what do we do?” Jack said, sounding at a complete loss. 

_ “I’m… honestly not sure. I’ll talk to the rest of PR and get back to you, but it might be best if you both just lay low for a couple of days. No social media presence.”  _

“No,” Bitty said. 

_ “What’s that?”  _

“George, I appreciate you tryin’ to protect us, but I’m… so tired of being scared.” Bitty took a deep breath. “Maybe my story helps someone.” 

_ “I can certainly see what you’re saying, Eric, but… no sense in drawing fire if there’s a way around it.”  _

Bitty swallowed. “I guess you’re right. But I’m not going dark. I’m just going to keep doing what I do an’ I’ll publicly address it when you tell me what I should do.” 

_ “You’re a brave man, Eric.”  _

“Thanks.” 

_ “Oh, and um, definitely don’t go onto Reddit. There are people saying you look twelve and… well, you can see where the conversation went from there.”  _

“I try not to go on Reddit at all if I can help it, but thanks for the heads up,” Bitty said. 

In the end, he didn’t have to wait for George to tell him what to do at all. In a matter of hours there was a flood of support, on Twitter and Facebook and even late night television outlets that night. A couple of high profile trans athletes reached out to him, and he spent several hours talking to Harrison Browne on Skype, getting tips for how to release a statement and go forward as an out trans man. 

Through it all Jack stayed beside him, supporting him but also reminding him that, hey, he had  _ also  _ come out recently and they were in this together. 

In the end they decided to make a video together. 

_ “Hey everyone!”  _ Bitty said, waving at the camera cheerily, like he did at the beginning of all of his videos. 

_ “My name is Eric Bittle, and this is my boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann.”  _

_ “Hello,”  _ Jack said nervously. 

_ “Ain’t he cute? You might recognize him as the alternate captain of the Providence Falconers, the hockey team who won the Stanley Cup just a few days ago. You may also recognize him (and me) from videos all over the internet since the Cup, when we kissed on live television, essentially coming out to the world as a couple. Or maybe not! Maybe you recognize me from my baking vlog series (linked below, please be civil). But! We just wanted to take a few minutes to talk about our experiences as queer people these last few days, and to thank everyone for the support. Jack?”  _

_ “Thanks, Bittle. So, I’m from Montreal, and I’ve been involved in hockey since I was… ah, since I can remember. Eric and I met at Samwell University during his freshman year in 2013, and we began dating two years later when I graduated. So last summer, shortly before I started with the Falconers. I should add that the team has been nothing but supportive since they found out several months ago, and have welcomed Eric just like they’ve welcomed all of the significant others of team members. Eric is no different there.”  _

_ “He’s right, they’ve all been very kind and welcoming. Which brings me to… well, me. I’m originally from Madison, Georgia, and I’m a transgender man. This means that when I was born the doctor said ‘It’s a girl’ and my parents gave me a girl’s name. Around the time I was in middle school, though, I started to feel that this wasn’t me. I was, am, a man. When I started college I began living my life as Eric Bittle, and was accepted onto the Samwell Men’s Ice Hockey Team. This was, of course, when I met Jack.”  _

_ “Yes. When we began dating, we feared what people would say if it ever became public, and those fears have, to some extent, come true. We would like to address some of those things people have been saying. So, Bittle is a gay man. He is a man, and he is exclusively attracted to men. Some people have been saying that Bittle being trans means that I can’t be gay, which is, first of all, false. Bittle is a man, not a woman. His birth certificate has no say in this. It is also false in that I am not gay, I am bisexual. I am attracted to men, yes,  _ _ including Eric _ _ , but I am also attracted to women, and people of other genders as well. There are also people saying Eric is underage and calling me a pedophile, but that is beyond untrue. He is twenty-one, and just looks young.”  _

_ “Yep, I have babyface. But! Not everyone has been saying these things, though, in fact, so many people have been extremely supportive! A lot of people, including some trans people in the public eye, have reached out to offer support and encouragement, and so many people have tweeted at me thanking me for coming out. I just wanted to thank everyone who reached out, it means so much to me.”  _

_ “Um, I have a small counterpoint to this.”  _

_ “Hmm?”  _

_ “Eric did not come out publicly. We kissed on purpose on the ice, yes, but Eric had no say in his trans-ness becoming public. Someone from his past leaked to the media that he ‘used to be a girl’.”  _

_ “Ah, yes. Don’t do that. If you know someone is transgender, no matter how you feel about the person, don’t share it with other people. It can be dangerous to be transgender, even in this enlightened age, so don’t make it harder for us to stay safe. I’ve been lucky so far, but best not to create that issue for other people. If someone comes out to you, keep that to yourself unless they tell you you can tell other people. It’s just a safety issue.”  _

_ “Right. Okay, soapbox over, did I miss anything?”  _

_ “Nope, darlin’, you did great. Anyway, most people have been super great about this, I don’t want to give a lot of attention to the people who have been… less than great. That’s not what this is.”  _

_ “We just wanted to clarify a few things, and just voice our gratitude for everyone who has been on our side these last few days.”  _

_ “Absolutely. So with that, do you have anything else to say, Jack?”  _

_ “I love you.”  _

_ “Oh, aww, um, not in front of the camera, sweetheart… but I love you too.”  _

_ “Thank you to everyone, really, this has been incredible. And thank you, again, to the Falconers and all of our friends at Samwell.” _

_ “And I just wanted to say that if you’re a young trans person, it really does get better. I know that’s cliche, I know I’m not really old enough to be dispensing this advice, but… it really does get better. It may suck now, but there are always people in your corner, including me, and you can change the world if you want to.”  _

_ “Beautiful, Bits,” _

_ “Ah, shut up. Anyway, before I start cryin’, I think I’m gonna sign off. Thank you again to all of our supporters out there. We couldn’t do it without you. Bye guys!”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so so so so much for reading and leaving such great comments! this fic is... my trans love letter to check please, and it means so much that yall are into it. 
> 
> as always, not sure if i'll write more in the fandom, as ideas tend to just hit me over the head out of the blue and then i write and post them immediately, but in the meantime ive written a fuckton for leverage and the adventure zone, and way back when for pacific rim if you're into those 
> 
> thanks again, yall. love you!


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